


To Even Exist

by Daydreaming_Scribe



Series: To Mend a Broken Heart [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Racism, Sam Winchester's Season 14 Angst Beard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22635019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreaming_Scribe/pseuds/Daydreaming_Scribe
Summary: Team Free Will takes their first family vacation to Costa Rica, mostly at Jack's behest. Sam's resistant to say the least, but he doesn't want to ruin anyone else's fun. They arrive in the tropical country to find that this is far from an escape. Something is plucking tourists up one by one, and Sam and Max find their relationship strained by old trauma. All the while, an old foe is looming in the backgroundFor the Sam Winchester Big Bang. Art credit to AnOddSock and betaing to the lovely mvp SpaceMatriarchy, with some  helpful insight from TFWBT.
Relationships: Max Banes/Sam Winchester
Series: To Mend a Broken Heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628257
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33
Collections: Sam Winchester Big Bang 2019-20





	1. We may fall in love every time we open up our eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is coming a little late, but I've wanted to do this project for a while. The Costa Rican setting's based on my own experiences in the country, with awareness both as a tourist and as a person of Costa Rican heritage.
> 
> The racism mentioned within should not be highly triggering, merely making assumptions that are openly acknowledged as problematic.

“A vacation,” Dean says, brow furrowed. There’s layers of confusion to the words, like they belong to a foreign language.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), Jack still hasn’t really developed the skill to read people. So, he just nods eagerly.

“Yeah. A vacation.” He’s smiling from ear to ear. “I already have it all planned out.” Sam can’t help but feel an instant rush of affection for the younger man. Even though he’s even more opposed to a vacation than Dean, Jack’s cheery optimism about it makes it impossible to not love him.

Well, his optimism, coupled with the dedication it took to research and organize an international trip for six people, three of whom are legally dead and two of whom don’t officially exist. And maybe, just maybe, the hope to propose this trip to the other five people, who all happen to be infinitely paranoid and suspicious and definitely have no time for vacations.

“Jack.” Sam hates having to shoot Jack’s hopes down. The Nephilim’s rapid aging makes him a weird simultaneous mix of mature and naïve, and that’s made raising him a unique situation. They all were spared giving Jack “The Talk”, at least to some extent, because he already took it upon himself to find out about how humans reproduce.

Unfortunately, Jack’s precociousness led him to questions that the internet couldn’t always answer, because they were deeply personal and individual. Most recently, asking if Sam and Castiel were married. His logic was hard to dispute. After all, the majority of people who have children together are usually couples, and as far as Jack was concerned, both the hunter and the angel were his fathers.

Cas hadn’t been there at the time, and both his brother and boyfriend had been no help. So, Sam had been left to explain to the young Nephilim that they weren’t a couple, nor had they ever been, over Dean and Max’s wheezing.

Max stopped laughing pretty quick when Jack asked the follow-up question of whether he and Sam were ever going to get married.

This time, though, there isn’t an easy way to let him down. From the looks of it, Jack had taken a while to plan this trip, breaking down logistics and travel issues, and even checking to make sure those assembled had passports, real or convincing enough.

The worst part is, a vacation actually sounds pretty tempting. They haven’t had a major crisis since bringing Mom and Jack back from the Apocalypse World. It’s not like they don’t plan their own hours. But after a lifetime of hunting, a day in bed watching movies could be vacation enough for Sam. Going to a foreign country on the other hand…

“Jack, I know you put a lot of effort into planning this, but I’m not sure a vacation to Costa Rica is the best idea.” 

The younger man frowns. “I don’t understand. I thought vacations were what families normally do when they have free time they want to spend time together.”

“It is, Jack,” Mary says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And we want to spend time with you. It’s just that there’s more complications when the vacation’s international. For one thing, none of us speak Spanish –”

“I’ve been learning.” Jack counters. “Sam and Dean speak it, and Castiel knows most spoken languages.” That’s generous, to say the least. It’s been a while since Sam’s spoken except to practice with Jack, and Dean knows enough to watch his telenovelas. He doesn’t doubt that angels have every single language spoken by humanity hardwired into their grace, but after 10 years of dealing with angels, and Cas in particular, Sam’s also certain it lacks all human nuance. The angels who passed easily for humans had been speaking with them for decades – centuries, probably.

“We also have no contacts in Costa Rica. Or even in a neighboring country. If things go south, we have no way of reaching out to someone for help,” Max points out. It’s pretty weak, as arguments go. Back-up might be a wise thing to have, but it’s never been the Winchester way. Back-up comes to them without them intending to, either by serendipity or by Bobby or Castiel.

“Everyone else will still be in the Bunker. And Cas might not be able to teleport, but I can, so we can bring in backup or weapons if we need to,” Jack says.

“Okay, but none of this ignores that we can’t exactly pack up and go on vacation in the middle of things, Jack,” Sam says. The Nephilim doesn’t answer right away, instead choosing to shoot him a puzzled look.

“I don’t understand. Why not?” He asks. “We’re not in the middle of much. We go on minor hunts, but we can offload those to the others. I don’t understand what we have here that needs our attention.” The group falls back into silence once more. Sam fights the urge to speak up again and admit that he doesn’t want to go on vacation. Even if the entire idea of relaxing gives him anxiety, he doesn’t think he could bear to see Jack’s face if he said it.

“Well,” Dean speaks up. “I think it’s a great idea.” Blinking, Sam turns to look at his brother in surprise. If anything, he figured Dean would be more opposed to a vacation than he would. This was the same brother who scoffed at the idea of taking it easy after being freshly un-demonified, when Sam’s arm was still in a sling (though admittedly that might have been more the Mark than Dean).

“Me too,” Max agrees after a pause. Turning to Sam, he smiles. “It’d be nice to get away for awhile.”

Great. Both his brother and his boyfriend are joining in. Sam can’t be the one to shoot this down now, not without looking like an asshole. There’s still hope, though. It’s still three against three at this point. Jack’s age also usually means he has less say in decision-making, much to the younger man’s annoyance. As long as Mom and Cas are unsure, Sam can maintain his opposition diplomatically. 

“I haven’t ever experienced a human vacation before,” Cas says.  _ Oh, crap. _ “I can’t ever remember visiting Central America before, but I believe it contains some of the highest biodiversity on the planet. It would certainly be a sight to behold.” Jack smiles widely at his angelic father, before turning to the two remaining members of their group.

“Sam? Mary?” And God, that face is making it hard to say no. Sam shares a glance with his mom, and sees his own weariness reflected in her face. She gives a measured sigh, which tells Sam her answer before she even says it.

“I’d love to, Jack,” his mom says, her voice carrying all the eagerness of a person about to have a root canal.

“Sam?” He doesn’t need to scan the room to know that they’re all looking at him. He’s always been able to feel when a set of eyes are on him, and right now there are five. Looking up, he meets Jack’s gaze.

“Sure. Why not?” He says, giving as wide a smile as he can manage. The Nephilim lets out a laugh, and another smile. Walking over to Sam, he pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Sam hugs back, praying that Jack can’t sense the dread filling him.

* * *

The flight is direct, thankfully, from Houston to San José. They’ll have enough trouble flying through two airports with passports under fake identities. Going through multiple destinations is a nightmare Sam doesn’t even want to consider.

They’re no strangers to fake IDs. Even before Sam and Dean fell under the FBI’s radar, back when they were no-name drifters, they had used driver’s licenses and even badges that would probably fail under any serious scrutiny, but they never worried about it, because hardly anyone paid close attention. Hell, they’d gotten so cocky about it that most of their pseudonyms were rock stars and horror film directors. Sam even got in the odd Star Wars reference.

Passports, to travel internationally, are a completely different story.

It’s not like they have another option, of course. Max thankfully managed to get one pretty easily in Lebanon with his real ID, but the rest of them were a different story. You can’t just stop at the local post office and get passports for two allegedly dead mass murderers who abducted the president, their mom who had been dead since before Reagan’s second term, their weird friend who strongly resembles a missing person whose entire family is now dead, and a two-year old who looks older than most teenagers.

Well, actually, you could, apparently. Apocalypse-world Charlie’s managed to produce very convincing DS-11s and birth certificates tailored to the very best fake IDs they’ve had yet, plus proof of residences for each location they managed to get passports from. Working out the stories for each of them was easy from there.

Mary, Jack and Cas are posing as the Travers family from Whitefish, Montana, their main address being Rufus’ old Cabin (which has surprisingly held up over the years).

Dean’s using the junkyard in Sioux Falls as the home for one Joseph Matthews, a name which contained not a single rock or horror reference (though it’s a name shared with the first president of the American Proctologic Society, which Dean doesn’t need to know was intentional). Joseph’s travelling alone on a journey of self-discovery, that will probably more likely than not involve getting drunk on the beach.

Sam is traveling as Henry Fox from Lawrence, of all places. He and Max are upper management at a Kansas-based company, traveling to Costa Rica for business.

“That’s just our cover,” Max had joked, shooting Sam a wink from across the table. “We’re secretly in love and travel together so that the other people in our lives never find out.” Dean had mime-vomited, drawing a giggle from Jack, but Sam had just smiled back.

Surprisingly, these passports under false identities haven’t been an issue so far. They’re at the gate for their flight out of George Bush International airport, having passed through security without a care in the world.

The boarding’s already started, and the six of them probably look like the weirdest gaggle of travelers ever to be seen together. Mary hasn’t had to change much of her wardrobe, though she’s lost the flannel for a coral-pink button down that just reads “Mom”. Sam and Max are decked out in suits, to go hand-in-hand with their businessmen storyline. Jack’s in baggy jeans and an oversized hoodie, complete with headphones to fit the aesthetic of an angsty teenager.

Cas and Dean’s wardrobes are almost comically different from their personalities. Almost against his will, the angel’s abandoned his trench coat and suit for khaki shorts and floral print, looking like every cliché of a dad on family vacation. His brother’s also wearing khakis, but instead of floral print he’s wearing a polo shirt and thick shades. The glasses are going to come in handy soon, because at the rate Dean’s downing beers, he’ll be passed out before they take off, and hungover before they land.

Not a half-bad plan, if Sam’s being honest. He might have seated Jack next to Dean on purpose so the Nephilim could send his brother off to dreamland if Dean’s fear of flying proved too severe, but evidently his older brother has taken matters into his own hands.

Sam can’t help but envy him. Dean’s fear lasts only as long as the flight. Sam can’t exactly sleep away the entire vacation.

_ You could, if you wanted to, Sammy. You’d just be letting everyone down. Don’t worry, that’s par for the course. _

The thought of disappointing Jack is bad enough. But of course, the two other people most excited for the trip have to be Dean and Max. It’s not like Castiel will be too upset either way, and his Mom was practically begging Sam to be the one to say no when they deliberated on it. But he hadn’t. And if he goes back on it now, he’ll be upsetting his kid, his brother, and his boyfriend in one fell swoop.

Lucky him.

For the most part, Sam knows he’s being paranoid. There’s not been any life-threatening circumstances as of late that would indicate taking a vacation is a bad idea. It’s just that he’s been in this life so long at this point that he’s hardwired to think anything approaching a happy life is just the quiet before the storm. And Sam’s life has been remarkably happy as of late, to the point he barely recognizes it as his own.

With Max’s help, they’d made short work of ensnaring Lucifer, opening a portal to the Apocalypse world, and rescuing Jack and Mary. There had been a few moments when Sam was sure they would have died, particularly going through a tunnel full of devolved vampires, but Max’s magic proved him more of an asset than Gabriel and Castiel in fighting them off.

They did hit a little snag when making their way back to the portal with their small army of refugees. Lucifer had managed to slip from Rowena’s clutches and into the Apocalypse world. He’d allied with the angels of this world in an attempt to take Jack from them. Alone, Sam might have cowered and run from his former tormentor. But he’d been surrounded by his loved ones, fighting for his kid from the vile thing that wanted to claim it was his father, just because it had taken Jack’s Mom the same way it had taken him. With a witch, two angels and a Nephilim at their side, the army of hunters had nothing to lose but their lives, and they’d fought tooth and nail against the might of Heaven.

For a fraction of second, Sam was afraid that after everything, Jack might want to hear Lucifer out. That just goes to show how much he underestimated the Nephilim, because Jack didn’t need to understand every gory detail of his and Lucifer’s relationship. He could tell that everyone was afraid of the archangel, Sam most of all, and that was all that mattered to him. He might not understand the full extent of what Lucifer had done, but he understood enough to know he didn’t want to be like him.

The battle was hard-fought, and not without its casualties. Most of their losses had been refugees from the Apocalypse world, and they had still managed to take out most of the lower-tier angels. There were close moments, like when Zachariah had Max coughing up blood before Mary stabbed him through the head, or when Castiel offed his inexplicably German doppelgänger after Dean had caught his angel blade through the knee.

Gabriel had surprised all of them. He hadn’t fought his brothers, that had never been his style. But he proved every bit a Trickster as he was an Archangel, dragging the two of them into a lengthy conversation of how stupid it was for them to work together to destroy a group of measly humans, when they would inevitably turn on each other. Lucifer had made it out of the Cage when his brother had not, and the Other Michael had already killed his younger brother once before.

Lucifer hadn’t bought it for a second, stabbing his little brother through the chest. Unfortunately for the Lightbringer, that had only proven Gabriel’s point. The Other Michael had never experienced the Cage, and he didn’t plan on it. He was far stronger than either of his brothers and didn’t go for anything as pedestrian as stabbing. Instead, Lucifer’s Grace had gone up in flames, Michael burning through his weakened younger brother and the unfortunate Vessel he was occupying like firewood. Without a single Archangel left in this universe besides Michael, they took their leave of it, assured in knowing that he could never escape without a Nephilim to open the door, and that would never happen so long as Jack was with them.

Since their return, everything’s been miraculously calm. Well, calm for their lives. After thwarting several Apocalypses, housing a tiny army of people from another universe was no biggie. The Bunker had become an impromptu Hunter hotel, these new people coming and going whenever, all across the U.S for new hunts they’d found.

Introducing his mom and son to his new boyfriend had been slightly more daunting. But Jack had been content with this new stranger, who for all intents and purposes was just another new friend, and Max was more than willing to be a friend to the young Nephilim.

Sam wasn’t naive that, as a woman of a different time who didn’t have the benefit of living through all the progress that had been made since then, Mary might have outdated opinions on nontraditional relationships. But if she does, she hasn’t voiced them. She’s nice to Max, if a little distant, but she’s been distant with Sam and Dean even before she’d gone into the Apocalypse world, so he assumes that’s a good sign.

So, logically, Sam has no reason to be worried. Despite the fact that the Bunker’s felt homier during the past few months, it’s hard to shake the traumas associated with it, so a way out should be welcome. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a break longer than 6 hours’ sleep, so this vacation is certainly needed. And the last international experience he had was a Canadian hunter’s funeral that turned into a demonic killing spree, so there’s only room for improvement.

And yet all he wants to do is bury himself in a hunt, safe (for a given value of “safe”) within the Bunker’s walls.

“Hey,” A squeeze on the hand pulls Sam back to reality. Max gives him a smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Sam says. “You?”

“I’m good. You just look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“I mean, yeah.” Sam doesn’t want to elaborate further – making Max as worried as him is bound to be counterproductive. “Guess it’s just been a while since I’ve really had to speak Spanish. Just afraid of being rusty.” By some act of grace, the line surges forward at that very moment.

“Well, you can always speak in Spanish to me,” Max whispers, leaning in conspiratorially. “I love hearing you speak in different languages.” Sam feels the corners of his mouth turn upward. Part of getting accustomed to dating is the fact that his boyfriend inexplicably finds a way to find the most banal things about him sexy. Not that he’s complaining, of course. Though Max undoubtedly has him beat in the sexy category, he knows well enough to not contradict his boyfriend’s attempts to boost his self-esteem.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “If I practice with you, we can maybe learn Spanish together.”  _ Smooth, Sammy, _ he can practically hear Dean say.  _ You’ve been dating how long and your main seduction technique is to roleplay as the Duolingo owl and talk your boyfriend into studying like this is sophomore year Spanish.  _ Max snorts.

“I admire your determination,” he says, handing the gate agent his ticket right as Sam gets his back. “Growing up our high schools taught mainly French. Useful when you’re in Canada and Middle America. Six years of it didn’t take – the most I can remember is  _ ‘L’actif ou le passif?’ _ . Got me many cute Quebecois guys.” Passing through the gate, they catch up with the line in the passenger boarding bridge, just a few feet from the airplane’s entrance.

“Maybe we should’ve gone to Canada, then,” Sam says. His tone must have been more abrupt than he meant it to be, because he can see Max make a face. They make the rest of the journey to their seats in silence.

_ Shit _ , Sam sighs. He knows his boyfriend didn’t mean anything by it. Max is naturally flirty, sure, but never pushy. Ever since letting Alicia go, the witch has been true to his word of not pushing Sam’s boundaries, always respecting the other’s sense of comfort. There should be no issue.

There shouldn’t be. Except Sam’s life can’t be easy, ever. All his relationships have gone sideways – though usually from death or the other person being possessed or straight-up evil. The notable exception being Amelia, who he just ended up drifting apart from. Of course, the common denominator in each of them was Sam.

He knows at least logically that this is different. It’s not like Max is pushing him to have sex – it’s not like he doesn’t  _ want _ to have sex. Every time they try, though, Sam feels his body shutting down. A less attentive partner would’ve just ploughed on ahead, and Sam would probably let them, and just pretend like everything was fine. For better or for worse, Max can pick up on his body language like that. The second he feels Sam go cold, he stops, and they just lie there together awkwardly.

Max never blames him. Blames Lucifer, blames Bevell, blames everyone from here to kingdom come who’s ever violated Sam in any way, but any time Sam expresses frustration at his own body for being a traitor, he’s the perfect gentleman, assuring him that everything’s fine. Sam’s at a loss for how to respond, because pretending like everything’s fine is usually  _ his _ unhealthy coping mechanism.

Maybe he should take a leaf out of Dean’s book, and break everything in sight.

He knows he’s being ridiculous. He should be grateful that Max is such an understanding person. And patient with the fact that he can’t bypass his trauma with regards to sex. But the fact that even dead Lucifer has a hold over him pisses Sam off to no end.

People are still filing into the plane, but he and Max have already been seated. Dean passes their row, not giving any indication that he knows them. Jack can’t resist the same temptation, giving a happy little wave that brings a smile to Sam’s face. Next to him, Max takes no notice, absorbed in the iPad he put in his carry-on. A closer inspection of the screen reveals that he’s reading a PDF of one of the Men of Letter journals on witchcraft that Sam uploaded a month ago. He hasn’t spoken since Sam’s snippy comment – to an outsider, he probably looks bored, but Sam knows he’s pissed. And he should be – he didn’t deserve to be snapped at for no reason.

Sam reaches out and takes hold of Max’s free hand. Tearing away from the iPad, those amber eyes turn to him. He gives Max’s hand a gentle squeeze, with an expression that he hopes reads as  _ “I’m sorry for being such a jerk.” _ Max smiles, squeezing his hand back as if to say  _ “it’s okay, you’re my jerk” _ .

Pulling up the seat divider, Max brings his head to rest on Sam’s shoulder. The tiny intimacy warms him up like a day out in the sun. Sam’s own head comes to rest on top of Max’s. The younger man gives a hum of content.

“I know you’re worried,” he tells Sam. “But there’s no need to be. Rowena and Charlie are holding down the fort, and if we need someone to help us, Jack can have us back at the Bunker in no time. Everything’ll be fine.” After a brief pause, Sam nods.

“Yeah. Everything will be fine.”

And for a minute, he believes it.


	2. I'll go anywhere you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The groups lands in San José, and gets a ride from the airport. Sam and Max hit a couple roadblocks on their first day.

By some small mercy, Sam sleeps dreamlessly most of the nearly 4 hours to San José and wakes up right as the plane lands. There’s a painful crick in his neck that can only come with falling asleep upright in a vehicle, but it’s well worth it considering Max’s passed out on his shoulder.

For all his good looks, beauty sleep is a term that could never apply to the witch. He’s got two expressions while he sleeps – grumpy and drooling. Sam’s preferential to grumpy, partly because Max looks like a sulking little child and partly because he prefers not to be covered in spit. He might be the larger of them both, but sharing a bed for a while’s taught Sam how much his body’s capable of compacting in on itself, because his boyfriend is an unrepentant bed hog. That is, whenever Max isn’t literally slumped on top of him, like he is now.

Making an effort to not move his shoulders too much, Sam reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone. Opening the camera app, Sam presses the selfie option and holds the camera steady long enough to snap a picture of him and his boyfriend. Unfortunately, he forgot to set it to silent earlier, and the sound of the photo being taken rouses Max.

“If you don’t wanna be sleeping on the floor of the hotel bathroom, you’ll delete that photo.” The witch mumbles, rubbing his eyelids. Sam grins. Maybe it’s on the creepy side, but he has quite a few pictures of Max asleep on his phone, unbeknownst to his boyfriend.

He’s not the only one, either. Maybe it’s a comfort thing, or the need to capture a moment when his loved ones felt safe enough to fall asleep, but Sam has pictures of Jack and Dean asleep on his phone as well (though the photos of his brother were doubling as blackmail material should Dean try any prank wars).

“You’d never let me sleep on the hotel bathroom floor.” Sam says. “Then you’d have no one’s chest to use as a pillow.” Max snorts, stretching an arm upward to lessen the tension in his shoulders.

“You do have your uses as a body pillow.” The younger man concedes. Rubbing his eyes together, he gives a poke to Sam’s chest. “Your perky boobs are one-of-a-kind.” Sam can’t help but laugh.

“Well, uh, my perky boobs appreciate your recognizing their essential role in your sleep schedule.” He says. In response, Max gives a smirk.

“So what’s on the itinerary after we go through customs? Any chance I can take the boobs back to our hotel room for a session to rest my face on them?” A well-timed  _ ah-hem _ from Max’s other seat neighbor, the scandalized and now very much awake older woman glaring at them both, brings any further conversation to a halt.

Sam’s face feels like it’s burning, and he makes the most solemn expression he can muster while silently whispering his apologies to the lady. Max, on the other hand, can barely hold in his laughter, wiping away tears forming at his eyes. Sam’s unamused scowl does little to quell his boyfriend. In fact, it has him wheezing harder. By the time Max does eventually stop, the plane has reached the gate, and the seatbelt sign turns off with a ding. The woman shoots up out of her seat almost immediately, grabbing her carry-on from the overhead in record time before moving as far forward as she can from them.

“That wasn’t funny,” Sam says, fighting the smile at the corner of his lips. Rolling his eyes, Max grins from ear to ear.

“It’s totally funny,” He argues. “You just cannot appreciate my refined sense of humor at this current moment.”

“Uh huh.” Sam says. Their disgruntled seat neighbor has vanished from the line of passengers disembarking, apparently already off the plane. The two of them rise to their feet. Sam has to stoop a significant amount, being closer to the window. Max takes a moment to smirk at his awkward stance, reaching into the overhead storage. Ever so generous, he hands Sam’s bag over to him first before getting his own. As they slowly join the single file out of the plane, Max leans back to Sam.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asks. “I hope we didn’t fly out at 8 in the morning to go spend the whole first day in a hotel. Even though that doesn’t necessarily sound unappealing.” Sam chuckles.

“Well the very first thing we have to do is go through customs.” He jokes. Max rolls his eyes. “But other than that, I’m out of the loop.”

“Well, so long as Jack’s the one who did the planning.” The younger man says. “If Dean had planned it we’d start off at a bar and end up in a strip club.”

“You wound me,” Dean says, having appeared almost out of thin air from behind Sam. Like Sam predicted, his aviophobic older brother is showing the clear signs of having drunken too much in the four-hour flight, resting a hand against his temple and pushing his shades as far up onto his nose as he can manage. “I’d never bring you two losers along. You’d ruin my game.” Sam scoffs.

“Yeah, I’d like to see you flirt with locals when your Spanish is barely enough to get through a telenovela with subtitles.” He points out. Dean gives a smirk.

“Still probably score better than your lame ass would, I bet.” He says. Sam looks at his brother, and turns back to Max.

“Well, right now the score’s 1 – 0, so -”

“I swear when you two argue, you sound like 10 year-olds.” Max chuckles, saying a brief ‘thank you’ to the flight crew before getting off the plane.

“Yeah, and you’re banging one of us, so what does that say about you?”

And just like that, all the mirth gets sucked out of the conversation. Seeing Max’s shoulders stiffen, Sam swears internally.  _ Good job, Dean.  _ His brother’s unaware of the shift in the witch’s mood, shuffling forward through the airport with his luggage, oblivious as ever.

But that’s not fair, of course. Dean can’t be expected to know the ins and outs of their sex life. His and Sam’s relationship might thrive on dysfunction, but that level of intimacy’s a bit too close for comfort. Maybe if their relationship was different, Sam could come clean about the sex (or lack thereof, in this case).

And talking to Dean about the lack of sex he and Max have had also requires an explanation as to why Sam’s uncomfortable with having sex. And  _ that _ requires a discussion about Sam’s many encounters with one specific type of body violation that he doesn’t want Dean to know about. Because, sue him, but it’s bad enough to have Max look at him like he’s broken. Dean Winchester invented making other people’s trauma about how it affected him, and the “Man who wishes he could shoulder the burden of the world to protect his baby brother” persona might make Sam consider hightailing it to the middle of nowhere if Dean ever truly found out some of the things he’d been through.

They reunite with Mom, Cas and Jack around baggage claims. Max, Dean, and Mary go as a group to the conversion booths, leaving Sam with the angel and Nephilim. In spite of himself, Sam can’t help but smile at the giddy look on Jack’s face.

“Did you enjoy the flight?” Jack can’t help but nod eagerly.

“I’ve flown before, but only with my wings. Never on a plane!” He says, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s a much different experience!” Beside him, Castiel nods in concession

“I must admit I wasn’t enthusiastic at the prospect of flying by plane at first, but it was quite the experience to be in my vessel and yet feel so close to Heaven.” He admits, almost shamefully. “I do miss flying, so to be able to experience something so close to it… it was a wonderful experience.”

“I bet,” Sam says. It’s strange – he’s so accustomed to thinking of Castiel as the strong one in their group, the one they rely on. But the angel’s powers have dwindled to a shadow of what they once were, with the decline of Heaven. Flying to him is as natural as walking is to an able-bodied human, and it’s lost to him forever after who knows how many millennia of it being part of him. Sam makes a mental note to check in with the angel about it later.

Looking back to Jack, he brings a hand to rest on the younger man’s shoulders. “So, what’s the plan for today? Just want to make sure we have enough money for whatever.” Almost immediately, Jack perks up. From the pocket of his massive hoodie, he pulls out a notepad, flipping it over once.

“After we go through customs, I thought we’d check in at our hotel?” Jack explains. “It’s in the middle of San José, so I was thinking we could stop by the National Museum – they have an exhibit on Costa Rican Folklore right now, I figured it would be perfect for you.”

Sam feels a giant rush of affection for the Nephilim. Almost on instinct, he pulls the younger man into a hug. Jack freezes for a minute, before relaxing into the gesture.

“That sounds like a great idea,” he says, pulling away. “Anything else? Or do you want to play it by ear?” Jack shrugs.

“There’s an ice cream that I wanted to try, but we can see if we have time later.” He says. Castiel offers a small smile, nodding.

“Of course,” The angel says. “The rides?”

“Jack and I already worked that part out.” Max answers, appearing suddenly behind Sam. “Two cars. One for the Travers, and one for me and my business partner to share with the currently boozed-up Joseph Matthews.”

“Ughh,” Dean groans, nursing his temple. “So long as I don’t have to see you two tickle each other’s tonsils.”

“Damn,” Max says, leaning into Sam’s side. “Making out with my boyfriend in the back of a moving car in the middle of Latin America while we’re dressed in suits and his brother’s watching has always been a fantasy of mine.”

Sam manages to cloak his laughter into a cough. Castiel and Jack both look thoroughly confused by the entire reaction, but Dean just flashes Max a very unkind gesture. Unfortunately, Mary chooses that exact moment to return.

“Dean,” she chides, pushing the offending finger down.

“He started it,” Dean says, pointing lamely at Max. Rolling her eyes, she looks back to Sam.

“Maybe I should go with you two boys. Make sure you behave.” It’s a tiny gesture, but Sam can’t help but smile. Even at nearly 40 years old, the idea that their Mom is here to discipline them makes him happy.

“I’ll make sure they behave.” He promises his Mom.

“Good. I’d hate for the 2-year-old to be the best behaved one here.” She says. Jack gives another wide grin.

After they breeze through customs, there’s a very small door that leads to arrivals.Stepping outside into the sweltering heat, they’re overwhelmed by the mob of at least two dozen taxi drivers are fighting for their attention. Weaving past Dean and Sam, Jack walks to the right. Following the Nephilim, the small group carries their baggage in a single file line, on a walkway not much bigger than a sidewalk.

They meet their two drivers, a portly beefy man named Oscar and a thinner, smaller man Hector, who escort them to the two cars Jack ordered (with Max’s help). Hector, their own driver, manages to stack their suitcases like Tetris blocks in the back of the trunk.

The drive from Juan Santamaría National Airport to Downtown San José isn’t too long. Dean takes shotgun, rather than have to share the back with Sam and Max. Any small talk they make with Hector is details about their imaginary lives, or advice on what to visit while they’re in San José. By the time he drops them off at Gran Hotel Costa Rica, he’s rattled off about four restaurants, seven cafés, and five bars that he assures Dean have “the most beautiful girls in all of San José”.

“You all will do well in those bars.” He assures, looking at Sam and Max in the rearview mirror. “Handsome men like you, the girls will be all over you.” Max snorts. He and Sam share a glance. Those golden-green eyes are filled with silent laughter. Sam can’t help but feel a smile play on the corner of his lips.

“We’ll be sure to check it out.” Sam says.

The other car’s beaten them to the hotel, and Jack, Mary and Castiel are waiting in the lobby for them by the time they’ve gotten all their luggage and tipped Hector. The Nephilim’s grinning ear to ear at the splendor of the city, practically bursting with enthusiasm. 

“We’ve already checked in to 2 of the rooms.” Jack informs them. “All that’s left is your room.” He looks to Sam and Max. “I was thinking we could leave in an hour.” 

Sam smiles at the young man. “Yeah, sounds good.” He says. “You guys can head to your rooms, have time to wind down. We’ll check in and meet you back down here in an hour.” The other four say a temporary goodbye to Sam and Max, heading back to the elevators.

The young Costa Rican woman at the front desk gets slightly confused when she pulls up their reservation for a room with one king-sized bed. She mentions the possibility of a mix-up, mentioning the married couple she just checked into a room with two Queen. Jack, in all his sweet naivety, didn’t think through their cover stories well enough when booking the rooms.

Sam and Max quickly dismiss her worries, assuring them that they won’t be in San José for too long. The lady arches an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. Nodding, she gives them a slight smile.

“Of course, sirs.” She says. “It is a shame, though. We have la Marcha de Diversidad in just a week or so.” Finalizing the reservation with a few clicks, she hands over two hotel cards. “Enjoy your stay in San José.”

“What was that about?” Max asks, as they make their way toward the elevator. Sam shrugs. Pressing the up button, Sam hefts one of the bags over his shoulder.

“So Jack said, what, one hour?” He asks. Looking to his boyfriend, he receives the nod of confirmation. “Should be enough time for us both to shower. And get out of these suits.” The elevator doors slide open and the two of them step in, Max pressing the button for their floor.

“What, you didn’t like the suit I got for you?” He pouts out his lips. “I think you look like hot in it.” The suit was a birthday present for Sam’s most recent birthday, by far the happiest one he’d had in a while. It fits like a glove, much better than the tacky ones he and Dean usually crack out for a case. It’s definitely not regulation- something Max probably made sure of - so it could only be used for a date night out.

Or traveling to a foreign country. Either way.

“I  _ am _ hot in it. That’s the problem.” He says, popping another button off the top. His boyfriend doesn’t seem too concerned by his predicament.

“Yeah, you’re sweating everywhere.” He observes, in his signature come-to-bed voice. “You need to shower right away. Might even need my help.” Sam chuckles, leaning into the witch’s personal space.

“Oh yeah? How would you help?” He inquires. Showering together is an intimacy Sam enjoys thoroughly. It never progresses any further than kissing, but Max hasn’t shown any indication he minds.

With a ding, the elevator comes to a stop. Stepping out into the hall, they find Dean already waiting for them, still dressed like a forty-year old frat brother

“Got locked out of your room already?” Max snorts. The older Winchester shakes his head, then wincing at the motion, clutching his forehead.

“Nah, just gave the kid the first shower. Wanted to check out the honeymoon suite you two were staying in.” They make their way down the hall.

“Why? Planning on joining us?” Max asks sweetly. Both brothers pull a face, as they come to a stop in front of their room number.

“Ugh, gross.” Dean says. “Sorry, Sabrina, I don’t bang guys. And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t bang them with my little bro cramping my style. And definitely not if they’re my little bro’s boyfriends.” He smirks widely, presumably winking underneath his thick shades. “Wouldn’t want to spoil you with the more beddable Winchester.” Sam tenses, clenching his jaw. He can feel Max’s eyes on him, like he might shatter. Like he’s a fragile thing, that can’t even stand the mention of it.

_ You are a fragile thing, Sammy. A fragile, weak, pathetic thing. Good thing Deano’s too loyal to fuck your boyfriend, since you can’t manage to. They’d be a much better pair. Just like you and I, Roomie. _

Moving past both of them, Sam inserts the key card into its slot on the door. The previously inert bulb flashes green, and he swings the handle open, with maybe a little too much force. They step into the hotel room, Max and Sam lugging their suitcases along with them. Dean grunts in approval as he examines the room.

“Gotta hand it to the kid, he picked a hell of a vacation.” He says. “Love these digs. Not too different from our room, but of course, neither of you have a bedtime. Maybe at the next stop, we can switch up the housing situation. I can be your roomie.”

“Great, Dean, maybe you can come in here after Jack’s gone to sleep and we can all drink Cosmos and braid each other’s hair.” Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he can tell he’s come off too sharp. Max’s looking at him with concern again, and Dean looks shocked. To be fair, he has every right to be. It’s not his fault he can’t read minds. Not his fault Sam’s never bothered to tell him just exactly how fucked up he is, so he can learn to sidestep all his triggers.

“Sorry,” He blurts out. “Just a little tired. Didn’t sleep much last night. Plane wasn’t too comfy to fall asleep on.” It’s a lame excuse, as excuses go, but that’s the Winchester Approach to Discussing Feelings. That, and drinking. Dean nods understandingly, because of course he does. He can probably tell he’s touched on a sore subject, but he won’t bother asking.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He makes his way toward the door. “To be honest, I’m a little hungover. Can’t wait to sleep it off tonight.” Sam winces.

“Yeah. Sure. Hey, Dean,” He calls out, just as his brother’s about to leave. “If you’re not feeling too good, I’m sure Jack wouldn’t mind if you stayed back to sleep it off.” His brother laughs, shaking his head.

“Nah, wouldn’t wanna upset the kid.” He says. “Also, staying in the hotel on the first day of our vacation is lame. I can tough it out.” After a pause, he puts a foot back into the room. “Do you have any Advil in your carry-on?”

After handing his brother a pill from one of the bottles in his toiletry bag, Sam lets him know they’ll see him in an hour. As Dean closes the door behind himself, Sam turns to see Max standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“So..uh...shower….” He stumbles over his words like an idiot. His boyfriend gives him a small smile.

“You get a head start. I’ll meet you in there.”

“Sure.” Sam says, trying not to let the flash of hurt show up on his face.

_ Killed the romance almost as quickly as you killed all your exes, Sammy. _

* * *

Max doesn’t end up joining him in the shower, even though it goes on for a good 15 minutes. They do meet in the bathroom, however, while Sam’s still drying off. Well, it’s not a meeting, so much as it is Max stripping down while Sam sits naked on the toilet vigorously rubbing the towel through his hair.

“Hope you saved enough hot water for me,” Max teases. Underneath his light tone, though, Sam can feel his boyfriend walking on eggshells. Joking only enough to lift the mood, hoping that he doesn’t step too far and anger the beast.

“If I didn’t, you can make me sleep in the corner,” Sam says, teasing back. Mentally he prays that Max doesn’t feel the need to. And wishes there was a way for the witch to wave his hand and make this all better. If only Sam’s stupid trauma could be bottled and hidden in a dark corner of his mind, never to be opened again. So Max could have a normal fucking boyfriend, not one who’s too afraid to have sex with the man he’s been with for almost two years.

“Nah,” Max says. “Like I said, your perky boobs keep you firmly secure as my cuddle buddy.” He gives his butt a little wiggle. Sam gives a nervous laugh, seeing as how aforementioned butt is not too far from his face. “I’ll be out soon. Can you go see if there’s a pool outside? Kinda want to get some sun tomorrow.”

_ Right. He wants you out of here as soon as possible, _ the cold voice in the back of his head whispers.

“Sure,” he says, heart sinking.

As Max turns on the shower once again, Sam rescues the only-slightly-used underwear from the pile of clothes he left in the bathroom, pulling it on before stepping out of the bathroom.

A shiver rolls up his spine. The air conditioning is blasting at almost supernatural temperatures, probably to compensate for the tropical temperatures just outside the walls. Goosebumps rise up all over his body as he makes his way over to his suitcase.

_ Wonder what he’s doing in that hot steamy shower all by himself? _

Shut up, Sam says.

_ Oh, come on, you know it as well as I do. _

I said shut up, he growls, covering his ears with his hands.

_ He’s still young, not even 30. A man has his needs, and considering you’re not willing to provide – _

“I said shut up!”

One of the upright suitcases falls over. Groaning in frustration, Sam hauls it back up. He takes a change of clothes from his open bag and starts to get dressed rather aggressively. He definitely needs to get downstairs. Clearly, being alone with his own mind isn’t doing any favors.

He puts on his clothes for the walking tour, a navy blue flannel, a pair of jeans, and sneakers he usually keeps for jogging. Making sure his phone, a copy of his fake passport, and his wallet with an equally fake ID and the room card are in his pocket, he heads back out into the hallway.

And just his luck, Dean and Castiel are waiting for the elevator.

Sighing, Sam walks over to meet them, stopping so that he’s on Cas’ other side. The two of them look up at him. The angel’s expression is the same as usual, inscrutable. Dean’s is much more acutely terrified. Well, maybe not terrified, but anxious. The same way Max was acting in the room, except much more surface level.

“Man, the water pressure here, huh?” He says. Sam huffs, nodding.

“Yeah, it’s really something.” Between them, the angel seems to pick up on the tension. Cas might not be good at reading most people, but he’s spent too many years as a bystander to Sam and Dean’s melodrama to not recognize when they’re deliberately being civil to each other after a weird confrontation.

“I have not tested their showers yet.” He says. “Water pressure _ is _ an important part of the shower experience. Perhaps I should try it.” 

Sam holds back a laugh, patting the angel on the shoulder. “Yeah, you do that, Cas.” He says.

The other two have not changed their outfits from the flight, though Castiel has now added a wide-brimmed sunhat and a pair of sunglasses that match Dean’s to his ensemble. Dean’s shades are resting in the V of his Polo, the hangover he was nursing evidently gone. Likely from the assistance of an angel, as opposed to Advil.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam says. His brother peers at him anxiously over Castiel’s shoulder. “Sorry about earlier. I don’t know what set me off.” His older brother’s expression relaxes a bit, a smile breaking out onto his face.

“No problem.” He brushes Sam off, as the elevator door opens and lets them in. “I probably shoulda left you two alone. Just didn’t want to feel like I was stuck on baby-sitting duty.” Sam smiles.

“It’s okay. We managed to find out if the shower could fit two people.” He lies. His brother makes a gagging noise, hunching over and mime-vomiting.

“I didn’t need to know that.” Dean whines, covering his ears. “Seriously, you had time to get sexy in the shower, but not enough time to shave that carpet off your face?” Sam gives a shrug.

“Max likes the beard, so he overrules you.” That’s another new thing that comes with dating the younger hunter. Sam had never grown a beard out before in his life, finding the itch of just a week of not shaving to be too annoying to tolerate.

Max, whose prior skin care routine was much different than the Winchesters’, in the sense that it actually existed, managed to turn Sam onto Lush. When he mentioned how hot he’d think Sam might look without a beard, the older hunter had some initial protests. However, the witch produced a cream that smelled strongly of pineapple, and managed to soothe his skin, effectively silencing those protests. There might be a few home-brewed witchy tinctures to help the beard along the way, but for now, at least, Sam liked the new look.

“I agree with Max.” Cas decides, as the elevator opens back up to the lobby. “The beard adds a level of distinction to your appearance.” Dean snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, that makes two people wrong.”

“It’s interesting, you didn’t seem to have much of a problem with the beard until three waitresses in a row asked you if Sam was single before you could attempt to seduce them.” The angel says. Before he can stop himself, Sam lets out a snort of laughter, which he tries to disguise as a cough. Unfortunately, Castiel’s comment sends him and Dean into a round of bickering, which continues into the lobby. By the time Jack, thankfully, Mary and Max have joined them, Dean and Castiel have called the argument a draw.

The walk from the hotel to the National Museum is less than ten minutes, a few blocks straight down the street. The heat’s a little intense, not helped with the layers Sam’s wearing, but it isn’t unbearable. It’s midday, and the city is alive and bustling with energy, with endless seas of people weaving around their tiny group.

Looking around, Sam’s suddenly grateful for the choice in clothes he’s brought. Button-downs and long pants seems to be a common theme. He’d fit right in, if it weren’t for the fact that he feels even more outlandishly large than he does in most places in the states. Hell, even Mary’s taller than most of the people around them. Even if they wear their normal hunting clothes, they’ll still probably stick out as foreigners.

The Museum’s a large golden building on a hill. Despite its intimidating size from the outside, they don’t take more than an hour to breeze through it. They pass by the first exhibit before they even walk in the door – a giant sphere made completely of stone. Apparently, there’s over 300 of them throughout Costa Rica, most likely the product of a now extinct indigenous culture.

The rest of the museum is similarly dedicated exclusively to the culture and history of the country. After buying their tickets, they make their way through a botanical green room, up a ramp that turns around halfway through. This leads to a courtyard, with another giant sphere in the center. The permanent exhibit is a series of rooms in the building surrounding the courtyard on three sides, telling all about the history of Costa Rica, from its Pre-Columbian history, to its colonization by Spain, to its very brief Civil War in the 50s and the subsequent abolition of its military, to modern day.

Jack’s assumption about the temporary exhibit on local folklore proves to be accurate, because Sam can’t seem to peel his eyes away from the endless lines of information. The exhibit is, more specifically, on legendary creatures and superstitious beliefs about animals in Costa Rica. The white walls and partitions are crawling with text about various animals, and the traits attributed to them in indigenous mythology and later rural tradition. He takes a picture of just about every posterboard and mural, because you never know when this kind of information can come in handy. Over his shoulder, he can hear his older brother snicker.

“God, what a nerd.”

“Yeah, but he’s my nerd.” Maybe it’s his imagination, but Sam swears he can hear Max smiling as he says it. Obviously, the conversation in the hotel didn’t go over too well, but the day’s not over yet. Maybe they can still patch up the whole thing later. Depending on how things go.

The next stop on their self-guided tour of the city is a neighborhood called Barrio Escalante. It’s a bit of a hike, but none of them are particularly bothered by it. The main motivation for coming to Barrio Escalante turns out to be an ice cream shack. However, as soon as they’re in reading distance of the menu, Sam can see that this isn’t just a regular ice cream store.

“Okay, my Spanish isn’t the best,” Dean says, muttering into Sam’s ear. “But I’m pretty sure ‘Helados con licor’ means…”

“Boozy ice cream.” Sam affirms. It’s as if he’d told Dean Christmas had come early.

“Groundbreaking,” Dean says, as a smile breaks out onto his face. He turns to Jack. “Great choice, kid.” The Nephilim returns his smile. Sam folds his arms together.

“Yeah, but Jack, try and stick to the lower menu, okay?” He says. The Nephilim can probably pass for the drinking age, but that doesn’t change that in most of their minds, he’s still two. Jack nods.

“Of course.” He says. “None of those flavors sounds very delicious anyways.” 

True to his word, Jack doesn’t express any interest in the alcoholic flavors. His choice instead is a non-alcoholic chocolate ice cream with Marshmallows, in a chocolate flavored cone that’s rather questionably named “El Cono Tupac”, in contrast with the vanilla “Cono Eminem”. Dean also gets chocolate ice cream, except spiked with Jack Daniels. Castiel decides to avoid the ice cream altogether, given food as a concept is so hit-and-miss for him.

Max and Mary need a little assistance navigating the menu, which Sam and one of the English-speaking employees are happy to provide. His mom ends up picking a frozen ice that’s flavored with strawberry, coconut and Malibu. Max gets a cup-shaped cone full of strawberry and tequila ice cream. It’s started raining, so they all squeeze into the bench that’s right under the shack’s roof.

“First thing I’m doing when we get home is buying an ice cream maker,” Dean moans, sucking on the little plastic spoon provided. “Chocolate and Jack is a marriage I never knew I needed.”

“Wait, married to chocolate?” The Nephilim asks, face already covered in ice cream. “Is that possible?” 

Sam chuckles. “He means Jack Daniels, the liquor.” He explains, wiping the boy’s face with napkins. “It’s metaphorical.”

“Oh,” Jack says, nodded like Sam’s granted him so sage wisdom.

“Don’t disagree with him, though,” Max hums from across the table. “Never heard of ice cream and alcohol before. It’s pretty amazing.” His golden eyes come to rest on Sam’s cup-cone. “How’s that Bailey’s?” Sam smirks. Another thing part and parcel of having Max as a boyfriend. He pushes it across the table, dipping his spoon in Max’s tequila and strawberry ice cream.

Okay, so maybe Sam was wrong about going on a vacation. The only thing that’s gone wrong so far are his mood swings, and he could probably stop those if he could stop being so paranoid about this whole trip in the first place. Hell, that might kill two birds with one stone, if it can also fix the problem he’s been having with Max. Taking the stick out his ass to make room in there for Max, as Dean would probably crudely put.

Under the table, he can feel something rubbing against his leg. Looking back up across the table, he sees those golden eyes boring into him. Max smiles softly, winking. Sam understands the meaning very clearly.  _ Later _ .

* * *

It’s much later in the evening, and Sam’s spent at least an hour stressing in their bathroom. He isn’t sure how this is going to go. It’s not the first time, nor even the second, that he and Max have tried. But Sam’s determined for everything about their first time to be perfect. He’s showered again, being thorough in his cleaning. He even rubs himself head to toe in a body lotion that smells like bananas and vanilla after he’s dried off.

Emerging from the bathroom, he finds Max waiting on the bed, wearing about as much as he is. His boyfriend smiles, golden eyes examining him up and down.

“This day just gets better and better,” He declares. Sam feels heat flash on his cheeks. With almost no time at all, he crosses over to the bed, climbing on top of the other man and placing a kiss on his lips.

Max grips the back of his head, pulling him further down into the kiss. The younger man’s hand moves upward nails brushing against Sam’s scalp before he gets a solid grip on his hair and yanks it up. Grunting, Sam pulls up to look down at him again. The witch’s pink lips curve up, and he arches an eyebrow.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks. Sam considers. So much is on his mind: he’s horny. He’s nervous. He’s scared. The latter two don’t exactly sound sexy, nor do they set the mood. And the former doesn’t inspire romance. Instead, he decides to go with the fourth thing that comes to mind.

“You’re so beautiful,” He says, leaning down for another kiss. His boyfriend’s lips vibrate against his with laughter. Arms reach up and wrap around Sam’s waist.

“You’re beautiful, too,” Max whispers. He tugs Sam down again, pulling him closer until they’re chest to chest, before pressing a kiss to his neck.

Before Sam’s sure of what’s happening, he’s suddenly flipped over, and Max is on top of him. If he’s beautiful from below, he’s stunning from above. Looming over Sam, he moves as sleek as a panther.

““There’s so much about you that’s beautiful, Sam,” Max continues. “Your smile,” He places another kiss on Sam’s lips. “Your eyes,” He kisses one cheek, “Your compassion,” and then the other. Those golden eyes drift downward. “Your body.” Max continues to kiss further and further down his chest. “You’re so beautiful, inside and out. I want to make this good for you.”

The passion in his body goes out like it was doused with ice water. Even Max’s body heat isn’t enough to keep the cold from creeping in at all sides. His body’s locking up against his will. The courage he started with is starting to deflate, and that’s not the only thing that has.

Above him, Max comes to a still. Sam closes his eyes, fighting the sting of tears.

“It’s okay, keep going,” He says, reaching up toward the other man. But Max pulls away from his touch, getting off from on top of him and laying down beside him

“No, it’s fine, Sam,” He doesn’t sound angry. Disappointed, sure, but still understanding. Compassionate.

Sam turns over away from Max, allowing the other man to spoon him from behind. The pressure digging into his lower back lets him know right away that Max’s body hasn’t gotten the memo that the party’s over.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers.

“Don’t be,” Max says, gently pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Sam can feel his boyfriend’s arms tighten around his waist, burning hot like the sun. But inside, his body is still so, so cold.

_ Nothing can keep you safe from me, Sammy. Not forever. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the motivation to do this fic was the exhibit on legendary creatures in Costa Rican folklore. The accuracies are much more vague, so artistic liberty was taken.   
> And yes, there is a ice cream shop in San José that sells boozy ice cream. And yes, it is delicious.


	3. You're the Universe I'm helpless in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares always manage to get you down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for violence in the first scene in this chapter. If that's not your gig, skip until the italics stop.
> 
> This chapter introduces a native Costa Rican character (native meaning born in the country, though she is also Indigenous). Her speech pattern is meant to embody the way I've heard Spanish-speaking individuals, including members of my own family, speak English. I genuinely don't want to cause offense to any ESL individuals, hence why I don't focus heavily on her pronunciation but instead attempt to accurately reflect the way I've heard many Costa Ricans speak English.

_Sam’s immediately aware that he’s in the bunker, though he’s not sure where. It’s a dark hallway, stretching out seemingly forever on both sides. The sharp stench of smoke and burning flesh stings at his nose, even though he’s frozen to the bone and can see his breath before him. Distantly, there’s the sound of screams of agony. Sam’s not sure whether they’re in the air, or in his head._

_Suddenly, a pinprick of light appears ahead. Dread pooling in his stomach, Sam starts to run forward. The walls on either side seem to blur past him as he moves. The light grows and grows, and as it does, so do the screams._

_“Sammy!”_

_“Sam, help us!”_

_“Sam, where are you?!”_

_“Please stop! Don’t do this!”_

_The familiar voices – Dean, Jack, Mary, Cas – push Sam to run even faster. His heart pounds violently in his chest. The reek of burning flesh melds with the coppery scent of blood, threatening to push the bile up out of Sam’s mouth._

_As he grows closer and closer to the light, it starts to resemble an inferno. Contradictorily, the chill running through his body also seems to grow. The screams also grow more urgent._

_“Stop!! Sam, please, help us!!”_

_“No, No!–”_

_“Mom!! Cas!!??”_

_Sam’s entire body’s on fire with how fast he’s running, and he can barely breathe. Tears run down his cheeks. They’re okay, they have to be okay._

_He reaches the fire, and the pure carnage that comes along with it. Mountains upon mountains of freshly slain corpses are stacked as high as the eye can see on all sides. A thousand faces of all the people he couldn’t save. A thousand faces being consumed in cold fire._

_Mary is lying still on the ground, her neck bent at a sickening angle. Next to her lies a bloody splatter with an impression of wings on either side, and remnants of tan fabric._

_“Sammy!” Turning to the sound of Dean’s voice, Sam looks to see his brother, bruised and beaten and on his knees. And looming over him, in a white suit, is –_

_“Max?”_

_The witch gives a smile that isn’t his. His strong hands, resting on Dean’s shoulders, suddenly move inward toward his neck. There’s a sharp twist, and a crunch, then the sound of skin and sinew being torn._

_Dean’s body slumps to the ground. His head stays in place, held up by a clump of hair in Max’s grasp._

_“Dean!” Sam tries to run to his brother, but a gesture from Max has him rooted firmly to the spot. Falling to his knees, he looks up at the man he loves. “How could you do this, Max?”_

_A laugh falls out of the other man’s mouth, that isn’t his voice. Golden eyes vanish, replaced by bloody red ones. Max’s body shimmers, another form being revealed underneath._

_“Oh, Sam,” Lucifer croons, letting Dean’s torn-off head plop unceremoniously to the ground. “Don’t you get it?” Stepping over his body, the devil approaches him. “Max knew he could only be worthy of you if he had me.”_

_“Shut up!” Sam snarls, tears falling down his cheeks. “You’re dead, you’re not real!” A hot spark of pain shoots up his spine._

_“Wrong.” Lucifer chides, rippling back and forth between Max and Nick’s forms. “You thought I was dead. And all it took to open the door was making another Nephilim. One much more loyal than the little brat you infected.”_

_“Sam!” Across the room, Jack’s on his knees. The figure holding him is hidden in darkness, only two pinpricks of gold shining out. Jack’s face is bruised and bloody, and running with tears. “Sam!”_

_“Jack!” Sam can’t move. He wants to be across that room, between Jack and the other Nephilim. He can’t save him._

_“Sam….” Jack says. “Dad…” He lets out one last breath “I love you.” A snap of Lucifer’s fingers sends him up in flames, screaming in agony. The fire stops as soon as it started, leaving only a scorch mark._

_Sam screams so hard his throat bleeds. He reaches up to Lucifer, willing to do every foul thing to bring them all back._

_“Please,” He begs. “Please,” Lucifer sneers. His form is now a constant shift – Max, Adam, Nick, Other Michael. Ice-cold hands wrap around Sam’s throat, pulling him to his feet._

_“Come on, I thought you loved foreplay,” He says. Sam’s vision grows blurry as his lungs fight to breathe. Lucifer’s grip tightens, black spots creeping into Sam’s vision._

_Almost immediately, the grip relents. Sam stumbles to his feet, body feeling pure as ever._

_“Sam?” Max’s suit and the blood on it are gone. His eyes are gold again, nervous and jumpy. “Sam, is that you?”_

_“Best guess out of three?” Before the witch can react, Sam’s hand reaches out to wrap around his throat. Inside his mind, Sam screams, begging Lucifer to let him go, to keep this one thing._

_“Sam, please…” Max whispers, vainly trying to pull Lucifer’s hand away from his throat._

_“There’s only room for one of us, handsome.” Golden eyes fly wide open. The grip on his throat relinquishes, head lolling back. As Lucifer removes his other hand from Max’s chest, the witch’s body tumbles backward._

_If Sam had control, he would be screaming in rage._

_Why, he asks. Lucifer chuckles._

_“I already told you, Sammy. Nothing can keep you away from me. Not forever.”_

* * *

Sam jolts upright. He’s coated in a layer of sweat, heart racing. The room around him is stark and clean, completely alien. Eyes dart around, taking everything in. Spotting the pile of suitcases in the corner, he lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. He’s in the hotel room. Except –

The bed’s empty. Sam’s naked under the covers, so he didn’t imagine what happened the night before. He has no reason to sleep naked without Max – he’d feel too exposed without the witch there beside him.

As his pulse begins to calm down, Sam looks at Max’s side of the bed. Did things end so miserably last night that he had to leave before Sam woke up? Or did he wake up to relieve his morning horniness discreetly, because he felt Sam was too traumatized to be exposed to that kind of thing?

Suddenly, Sam’s eyes spot the yellow notepad on Max’s side of the bed. He reaches out to grab it. There, in Max’s scrawl, is an explanation.

_Heading down to breakfast. I’ll have a cup of coffee waiting for you <3 _

The alarm clock informs him that it’s 8:39. Max probably hasn’t been gone for long. He never wakes up much earlier than 8:30 on a normal day. Maybe the excitement of vacation has him up and at it earlier than usual.

A shiver runs down Sam’s spine. Now that his heart’s not pounding out of his chest, he realizes how freezing it is. The AC feels like it’s blasting even higher than it was the day before.

Of course. It’s been a while since Sam’s had a Lucifer dream. He’s not sure if Max has anything to do with it, but between the temperature he tries to keep his room in the bunker and the witch’s body heat, he wakes up every morning feeling like he just got out of a sauna.

Sighing, Sam lifts himself up from the bed. Walking over to the thermostat, he cranks the temperature up ever so slightly. He then walks over to his suitcase, grabbing the clothes he’ll need.

When he gets to the dining hall on the first floor, he finds Castiel, Jack and Max huddled together at a table in the corner. The latter two smile when they see him. Max even gets up to pull out the chair next to him. True to his word, he has a cup of coffee ready for Sam.

“Sleep okay?” He asks, placing a kiss on Sam’s cheek. It’s a little tamer than Max normally would do, even for a good morning kiss.

“Fine.” Sam lies, lifting the mug to his lips. Looking around the room, he spots two cooks manning the breakfast table, but not many other people up this early. Max could’ve done with a little more than a peck on the cheek, it’s not like anyone’s watching. Or like they care what some halfwit homophobe has to say.

Giving the widest smile he can muster, he turns to Castiel and Jack. “How about you guys, how was your night?” He asks.

“It was great!” Jack gushes, eyes alight. “The shower in my bathroom’s enormous. It was almost like standing in the rain. I found it weird trying to fall asleep in a strange bed after being so used to my own, but it wasn’t bad.” That actually makes Sam happy, like Jack usually manages to make him feel. It’s not like his feelings are uncomplicated – he just manages to always seem to have a happy spin on things.

“Dean and I swapped beds,” Cas said. “I did not want to put out Mary by staying awake in the same room she’d be sleeping in, even though despite her physical appeal, I have neither the inclination nor the desire to –”

“Cas, not in front of Jack,” Sam protests, half amused, half grossed out. Both the angel and the Nephilim look at him confusedly. The expression’s so similar on both of their faces the hunter finds himself surprised yet again that they aren’t actually related. “So what, you guys had some father-son bonding?” Castiel shrugs.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that. Jack slept while I spent eleven hours or so watching Netflix on his computer.” He says. “The options seemed to have changed since the last time I checked it yesterday.”

“That’s just from being in a different timezone,” Max explains. Turning to Sam, he nudges and winks. “We can see if Drag Race is on Netflix Costa Rica. I can start getting you to watch it.”

“If you say so.” Sam says, smiling back. Netflix and chill, that’s the phrase, right? He hasn’t a clue. His boyfriend gives him another nudge.

“You should get breakfast.” He says, gesturing again toward the buffet table. “Get first picks of everything before too many people come in.” 

Sam relents, getting out of his chair. If there’s one thing he knows not to argue with his boyfriend about, it’s taking care of his body. This is speaking from experience. The last time they had that argument on a case, Max got both Dean and their Mom on his team. The fight was over before it even started.

Sam hasn’t been too many hotels that offer breakfast in the states, but the setup here is similar to the few he has experienced. There’s pancakes, scrambled eggs, cereal, pastries…

As he looks further and further down the buffet table, the breakfast items become more and more outlandish, at least to Americans. He settles for a mound of rice and beans mixed together, some fried plantains, and a large bowl of fruit. At the end of the table, the two chefs are manning an omelet station. Sam gets two fried eggs, before he returns to where the group is.

“So, any plan for the afternoon?” He asks. Hesitantly taking a bite out of a plantain, he resists the urge to moan. Delicious.

“Whatever we want to do until our ride gets here.” The next place they’re visiting is a city on the west coast called Quepos. It’s close to a four-hour drive, which is a terrifying concept in a country they’ve only been a day in with no GPS. Thankfully, there’s a van service offered. Sam’s still not entirely sure where Jack managed to get the money for all this, but it’s pretty damn impressive.

“Wanna catch some rays with me, babe?” Max asks, winking at Sam. “Gonna give my new bathing suit a test run before we get to the Pacific.” He’s seen the new bathing suit. It leaves just enough to the imagination to not be considered lingerie. The one he’s bought Sam is a little less revealing, thankfully.

“Oh,” Jack looks a little crestfallen. “I was hoping that Sam would want to come with me to this café I found.” He looks between them. “It’s right by here, actually! We’d be back with enough time for him to come with you to the pool afterward!” Sam breathes a silent sigh of relief. If he’s one of Jack’s dads, then Max has taken up the role of Jack’s Dad’s cool boyfriend who just wants to get along with him. He hasn’t quite learned the ability to say no to Jack, under any circumstances.

“Of course.” The witch answers, smiling widely. “As long as you guys bring me back something delicious!” Sam returns the smile, albeit not as wide.

Guess it’s hard to smile when he feels so guilty that he’s relieved. It’s not that Sam doesn’t want to be around Max. There’s close to nothing else he wants more than to talk things over.

It’s just, he doesn’t think he knows how.

* * *

Sam purposefully makes sure he and Jack take a while to stroll around the neighborhood on the way to and from Café Miel. The pictures they take offer a good enough excuse, as the architecture around the neighborhood is stunning. The Nephilim doesn’t have many complaints, satiated by the sugary drink aptly named Cookie Monster that he ordered from the café.

In tow, they have a Mango lemonade for Max, and several empanadas for the van ride. By some act of fate, they have a little more than half an hour before their ride gets here.

Max’s still sunning poolside, joined by Dean, Castiel and Mary. He’s appreciative of the drink, though Sam can sense his disappointment about Sam just getting here as they have to leave.

The packing and check out seems to go by fast, considering they didn’t empty out their suitcases, and yet the van is still waiting out in front for them by the time they step out of the hotel. The van has five rows, enough to fit them all and their luggage, and more even still. The “more” in question happens to be a young straight couple, Kyle and Brittany.

“The jokes write themselves,” Max whispered in his ear. Sam smiled, hushing his boyfriend. As they climb into the back row of the van, Sam realizes almost immediately they have a row to themselves. Dean, spread out in the row in front of them, seems to come to the same conclusion, because he cracks open an eye.

“No funny business – I have enough nightmares as it is.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely going to get up to stuff in a van with seven other people, Dean.” Max shoots back. The witch is first, taking a seat by the window. Sam slides in next to him. There’s nothing he wants to do more than to fall asleep right now. Given the fact that they’re stuck in the car for another 4 hours, Sam’s sure Max won’t mind. Yawning, he presses a soft kiss to the witch’s temple, before mimicking his brother and stretching out across the van row, resting his head down in his boyfriend’s lap.

Sam has too many feelings about last night, about yesterday in general, to talk to Max about it. There’s too much he won’t understand, and more importantly, there’s too much stuff Sam doesn’t quite understand himself.

If he’s honest, he wanted Max to carry on like everything was fine. But obviously, his boyfriend had to be too attuned to let it go unnoticed when Sam was obviously not enjoying himself. Max had to be understanding, and inexplicably, that’s made Sam start to feel frustrated.

Of course, right as Sam’s frustration hits, Lucifer’s voice begins to grow louder and louder inside his head. And the unsatisfactory ending to last night just had to be tied up with the most horrific nightmare he’s had in recent years.

Maybe his psyche is trying to tell him something. Stirring up the image of Lucifer possessing Max and murdering all his loved ones, right after his boyfriend ended things abruptly because of the trauma left by the archangel. To remind Sam to be grateful, to appreciate Max for being attentive enough, caring enough to stop.

Yet in retrospect, if he’s honest, Sam still confusingly wanted Max to have pushed on. He obviously cares about consent, but he did consent to the situation. Maybe that’s why he’s angry – because for as long as he’s remembered, he never was asked for consent for people to do whatever they please to do with his body, and now that he’s finally emphatically giving it, he’s not being listened to. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t.

It’s fucked up to think, but if he’s brutally honest, maybe Sam wanted Max to carry on with sex because he’s become so accustomed to not having sex he enjoys. On a deep, subconscious level, Sam’s better equipped to deal with sex that’s completely uncomfortable than he is with disappointing the people he loves.

* * *

The Selina hotel in Manuel Antonio’s still alive and bustling by the time they arrive, though it’s already dark outside. Sam and Max have switched places, figuratively and literally speaking, as the witch is now fast asleep on Sam’s shoulder (and of course Sam’s sneaked a picture or two, but Max doesn’t need to know that).

After Sam hands off a couple Costa Rican bills to their driver Paulo as thanks, the group all unloads from the van. They make their way up the front stairs and into the open-air lobby, stepping into an atmosphere that’s warm and comforting. Brittany and Kyle are already being helped at one of the reception desks, so they approach the other.

Sam can’t help but take note of the beauty of the woman behind the counter. Her skin is the color of copper, probably a combination of living close to the beach and indigenous heritage. A ponytail that’s probably regulation for employees pulls back curtains of sleek black hair. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spots a small wooden statue on a simple cord hanging level with her name tag, which reads ‘Dalila’.

“Welcome to the Selina Manuel Antonio,” Dalila says. “Do you have the reservation number?” Jack nods.

“We actually have three separate reservations for three different rooms.” He explains, rattling off the reservation numbers. Dalila nods attentively, punching in the numbers in rapid succession.

“Okay, your rooms should be ready for you,” She says, handing over the three keys. “In case you are interested, there are still four open spots for our sunrise yoga tomorrow, at 7 in the morning.”

“Count me out,” Dean says from where he’s standing with the rest of the group a few yards back. Rolling his eyes, Sam turns to Max. His boyfriend nods, giving a wink.

“You can put us down for two people.” He says, looking back to Dalila.

“Three.” Jack chimed in, grinning widely between Sam and Max. Nodding, the receptionist gives a small smile, typing the information into her computer.

“Now, might I ask, what plans you have while you are visiting here?” She inquires, her accent sharp and lilting. Beady black eyes glint with intelligence, seemingly piercing through them.

“We’re visiting the National Park,” Sam says. “And probably the beach.” The woman grimaces.

“Of course,” Dalila says. “However, I feel I must to tell you to be aware. There has been a spike in disappearances lately, all tourists, though not every one of them was American. If you need it, there is a bus that travels to and from the beach, which is within walking distance from the park. Try not to walk down to the beach, as the road on the hill down is very winding and the cars move very fast, and please be careful traveling after dark.”

“We’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Sam says, frowning. Obviously disappearances aren’t automatically due to some supernatural interference, but to have so many? And for them all to be tourists, in a country and specifically a city in that country so known for tourism? Definitely odd. Maybe something for them all to discuss later, when they’re alone.

“Enjoy your stay,” Dalila says, smiling. “There should be dinner for at least another hour.”

Once Sam and Jack rejoin the other four, they all move as a group to the right of the lobby, which leads to a large pool and an adjacent bar. The Selina’s highest point, it seems, is the front, with a network of staircases sloping downward to various stone buildings, with signs pointing to wherever all the rooms are.

They first stop at Mary’s room, which is a single with her own bed. Jack, who had a slight reverence for her as a sort-of pseudo-grandmother, booked her by herself. Sam and Max, similarly, have their own room. Jack might not exactly have the same assumptions as everyone else, that they need their own space to continue their non-existent sex life, but he’s so accustomed to them sharing a room that it only seems natural that they would have their own.

The final stop, the furthest down, turns out to be a series of three bunkbeds. The bathroom, which they haven’t inspected in either of the first two rooms, has a sign telling guests that because of plumbing, they must throw used toilet paper into the bucket beside the toilet rather than flushing it.

“Why do I have to get the least privacy?” Dean protests, looking a little grouchy. “I’m older than Mom and the two lovebirds, can’t I get one of the nice rooms?”

Sam contemplates internally. He and Max can’t put off the talk they need to have forever. Still, he wants some time to better sort through his emotions. Telling his boyfriend ‘I’d rather you act more like Lucifer than yourself in bed, because it pisses me off less’ is a really shitty way to word how he’s feeling towards the whole ‘continuous fails at sex’.

“You can switch with me tonight,” He offers. His brother’s eyes go wide. Looking between him and Max, Dean raises a silent eyebrow in question. Sam shrugs. “We had a king last night – it’s only fair to switch off. If you don’t mind sharing,” his eyes dart over to Max, whose face is inscrutable.

“Yeah, but still,” Dean says, his earlier complaints forgotten. “We could just get better rooms for all of us –”

“Too expensive,” Max interrupts. His golden eyes are practically piercing Sam’s soul. “I’m surprised our cards are working here. And besides, we can go one night without sharing a bed. If Jack or Cas doesn’t mind sharing the King with you..”

“I appreciate the kindness, but seeing as I don’t sleep, a bed isn’t much use.” Castiel points out. “Jack can share with Dean.”

The Nephilim hasn’t said anything yet, just watching them talk and talk in circles. Or, more accurately, he seems to be looking back and forth between Sam and Max, looking more and more confused. Almost concerned, maybe.

“We might have bigger things to worry about,” Sam says, shifting gears. He’ll pull Jack aside later – he’ll be less prone to hide his feelings one on one. “We might be dealing with something here.”

“What, you mean the safety precautions?” Mary asks.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I mean, the spike of disappearances all being tourists? Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Tourists carry cash,” Dean points out, folding his arms. “We’re also not exactly in the heart of civilization, here, Sam. There’s jungle on one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other. It can’t be too hard to hide bodies.”

“You’re not wrong,” Max says. “But still, Costa Rica has a lot of tourism. And I’m sure this area economically depends on it.” Sam nods at his boyfriend, turning back to Dean.

“Yeah. Disappearance spikes, especially of tourists, would definitely light a fire under the ass of every police and government agency to try to find them. Not finding the bodies can’t be so simple as ‘we’re not gonna look because they’re in the jungle’.” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I get you two clearly want to distract yourselves with work, but we’re on vacation,” he says, gesturing around the room. “This? This is meant to be a break from hunting. It’s what the kid wants.” He points to Jack, who doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s heard.

Sam feels a sinking feeling in his chest. He knows Jack did this for them all to get away from hunting. And yet somehow, he can’t seem to pull away from it for more than a minute. All while probably fucking up his relationship. Probably.

“Yeah, course,” he apologizes. Mary, seeing as well as anyone else that the tension still hasn’t gone, places an arm over Jack’s shoulder.

“Hey, we’ve just spent all day crammed together in a van,” She says. “Maybe it is a case, but there’s not much we can do. The people here are aware of the danger, so they’re not exactly defenseless. Why not just relax now, and try and solve everything later?” None of them speak up to contradict her, which seems answer enough to her. “Perfect.”

Taking a hold of her bags, she leads Jack with her free hand. They move toward the door, but not before Sam can step in front of them. He pulls the younger man into a hug, conveying as much as he can through the silence. Jack returns the hug almost automatically, forgetting the duffel bag slung over his shoulder that slams into Sam’s side with the motion of his arm.

“Sorry,” Jack mumbles, mouth squashed against Sam’s shoulder. Sam chuckles, patting him on the head.

“It’s okay,” He says. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He can see his Mom eyeing him inquisitively. But if she has anything to say, she won’t do it right now. Letting go of the Nephilim, he wraps an arm over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I think I’m actually gonna head to sleep early.” Almost apologetically, they hurry out of the room. Dean shrugs, taking his cue to leave.

“Well, I’m gonna hit up the pool bar,” He says, opening the room door. “Maybe if I get lucky, the kid’ll have the King to himself.” He steps through the frame, putting his foot in the door before it can close on him. “Sam?” Sam meets his brother’s gaze. Dean’s eyes are filled with concern, staring at him unwaveringly. “You sure you’re fine sleeping in here tonight?” Sam smiles softly.

“Yeah,” He encourages. “I’ll be fine.” Dean gives a nod of his head, turning to Castiel, who’s still standing awkwardly in the corner of the room.

“Come on, Cas,” He says. “Don’t wanna be that creep drinking at the bar by himself. Let’s give the lovebirds some space.”

“Ah,” The angel looks between Sam and Max, smiling softly in understanding. “If you two want this room to yourselves to enjoy each other sexually, let me know. I can spend the night elsewhere.” Sam sees Dean’s eyes widen, darting in panic from Castiel back to him.

“It’s fine, Cas,” Sam assures the angel, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want you to have to wander around outside because we banned you from the room for sex.”

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Dean relax. After yesterday afternoon’s temper tantrum, he probably thought Sam might rip the angel’s head off for the slightest sex joke.

Rest assured, Sam’s a hundred percent fine now. Yep. His emotions are in check, and he doesn’t lash out like the angry teenager he was forever ago. Yesterday was probably just the product of being tired from traveling. And the van ride over here was just paranoia from his dream. Probably.

“Yeah,” Max says, bringing Sam sharply back to reality. “Actually, I’m heading to the bar, too.”

Oh. Okay.

Castiel crosses over the room to Dean, passing right between Max and Sam as he does. The heat of the outside evening keeps rippling in through the door. Sam knows the two of them are watching him and Max. Unlike their mom, Dean is unabashedly nosy when it comes to Sam, courtesy of being an overprotective older brother for nearly forty years. Castiel’s excuse is that he isn’t socially conscious enough to know it’s impolite to listen in one other people’s conversations, even when you care deeply about them.

“Guys,” He chides, glancing away from Max for a moment to stare at them. “Do you mind?” Looking like a scolded kid, Dean nods, firmly leading Cas out of the room and closing the door behind him.

“It was like Grey’s Anatomy, they couldn’t peel their eyes away,” Max says. Sam looks back to him, giving a huff of laughter.

“Yeah,” He responds. _How articulate, Winchester._

Arms wrap up around his waist, as Max brings him in closer. Hazel eyes bore into Sam as they stand chest to chest. Sighing, Sam presses his forehead against Max’s, suddenly inexplicably tired. He could probably fall asleep standing up right now, if he wanted to.

“Hey,” Flicking his eyes open, he can see a soft smile playing its way onto Max’s lips. “Everything’s okay. We’re okay. It just takes time.” They fall into silence again, but Max is still staring him down. Sensing the tension in his body, Sam realizes he’s waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” He agrees. “We’re okay.” Grinning, Max presses a kiss against his cheek.

“I’ll be back later,” Max promises. “You look a little tired.” Huffing again, Sam nods. “Don’t wait up,” Max says, placing a kiss on his other cheek.

“I won’t,” He says. “You’re welcome to join me, but I don’t think one of these beds can fit both of us.” Max laughs again.

“You’re not wrong,” He says, giving Sam a tight squeeze. Finally letting go, Max walks over to the door to the room. Turning back over his shoulder, he gives Sam one final glance. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He promises. Smiling, Sam nods.

When Max finally closes the door behind him, Sam lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 _We’re okay,_ he says. _We’re okay. Everything’s okay._

Dropping out of his jeans and overshirt, Sam walks over to the closest bunk. Making sure his phone’s secure and charging, he plops onto the lower bed. As soon as he touches the firm mattress, tiredness overwhelms him, seeping into all the nooks and crannies of his body.

Slipping deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, the only thought running through Sam’s head is the same mantra, over and over.

_We’re okay._

_We’re okay._

_We’re okay._


	4. These Wildfires Grow and Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual content, nothing explicit.

When Sam wakes up, he can already sense that he isn’t alone. Cracking open an eye, he can see Max lying down on the bottom bunk next to him. However, it seems that the two beds have been pushed next to each other. Max probably did it after he’d gotten back, probably with Cas’ help as to not wake him up.

The aforementioned boyfriend gives a grunt, wriggling in his bed to get to a more comfortable angle. Sam smiles. It’s hard to be too close together, because they could slip through the space between the two beds and push it apart. Still, Max has a hand stretched out, resting on Sam’s back.

Slowly, Sam lifts his head up and surveys the room. Cas is nowhere to be found. Despite their assurances that they didn’t need the room to themselves for sex, he’s made himself scarce. Silently thanking the angel, he stretches across to greet his boyfriend with a kiss.

Max’s eyes lazily roll open, and the witch relaxes into the kiss. The hand resting on the small of Sam’s back slips down to his waist, pulling the hunter closer.

“Morning,” Sam smiles, pulling up from the kiss. The witch nuzzles into his neck.

“It sure is,” He growls. Feeling his pace quicken, Sam climbs on top of Max. Feverishly kissing his neck up and down, Sam begins to lift up the bottom of his shirt. “How much time before yoga?”

“Screw yoga,” Sam pants, pulling the shirt up to Max’s chest. “We can get a workout here.” Max sighs, grasping at Sam’s hands and pulling him into a kiss.

“And leave Jack alone?” He asks.

Sam pauses. The recognition on his face must be apparent, because Max’s smile widens, his chest beneath Sam vibrating in silent laughter.

“We’ll have a bed again tonight,” he assures Sam, pressing another kiss on his nose. “After we have that talk. And there’s no need to rush. Not if we’re not ready.” Huh, interesting. Sam looks down at him, trying to inspect any hidden disappointment. Relenting, he gets up, pulling his boyfriend with him over to their bags.

“Did we bring any workout clothes?” Sam asks, moving through his own bag.

“We could use bathing suits,” he hears over his shoulder. Sam snorts.

“Yeah, those’ll be comfortable to stretch in.” At last, he finally finds a pair of black gym shorts and a gray tank top buried deep within his duffle bag. Grabbing a fresh pair of underwear, he drops his boxers and starts fitting his legs around the new ones. Behind him, he hears a low whistle.

“Thought you didn’t want to leave Jack alone for yoga?” Sam asks. In a teasing voice, he hopes. Even though he obviously doesn’t want to bail on Jack either, he can’t deny he’s also hoping Max might change his mind.

“I don’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the view.” There’s a slight whine as Sam pulls the underwear to his waist.

“You can appreciate it tonight,” he teases back. Pulling on the rest of his clothes, he turns to face his already-dressed boyfriend. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Max grins.

The morning goes by like a blur, surprisingly. They head down the steep slope the hotel is built on to reach the yoga pavilion, a tiny wooden structure with no walls on the wider sides of the building. Jack’s waiting for them in gym shorts and a Star Wars graphic tee they bought as a birthday present, all bright and peppy and happy. Any negative emotions from last night have seemingly evaporated, at least temporarily, though Sam makes a mental note to talk with him later. Right after he and Max have their own talk.

The rest of the yoga class is, unsurprisingly, mostly women, though Kyle from the van yesterday seems to have been roped into it by his girlfriend Brittany. The yoga instructor, a tiny Costa Rican woman younger than either him or Max, never stops to correct either of them. Sam can’t help but notice the slightly enamored glances Max is getting from the rest of their classmates. It’s hard not to smirk in satisfaction.

By the time the hour-long session is done, they’ve all worked up a significant sweat. Their tour of the nearby national park is scheduled for noon, so they have more than enough time to change and eat breakfast. Sam’s surprised (overjoyed, actually) to see smoothie bowls and almond milk iced coffee on the hotel menu that he doesn’t even object to Jack’s breakfast choice of chocolate chip pancakes.

Castiel, Mary and Dean slowly join their little group at the table, the latter two ordering their own coffee and breakfast. Once they’ve finished and paid, they take the very inexpensive bus ride down to the town. He does feel a slight anxiety stepping out of the hotel, but it’s probably just nerves.

Jack gives the reservation for their tickets and tour after they’ve walked into the park, and they head back towards where the ticket vendors tell them they can meet their tour guide. Brittany and Kyle are once again the other members of their tour.

Sam notes the couple has lost all their peppiness from yesterday and this morning, standing a couple feet apart. Clearly, Kyle also took notice of how his girlfriend was looking at Max during yoga. Apparently, it doesn’t matter to him that Max is already dating Sam. Or that Max is gay, full-stop.

Looking to his boyfriend, Sam can tell he’s thinking on the same lines, because they share a grin. They’ll definitely joke about this later, no doubt. After they talk about everything else first.

The tour’s unlike any tour Sam’s ever seen before. Their guide carries around a set of huge binoculars and a stand, and every time he thinks he spots something, he’ll set up the stand with the binoculars on top and have them look through it. Sam marvels at how much he’s able to pick up that the rest of them couldn’t see without the binoculars – multicolored insects on a trunk at least six feet away from the bridge, a remarkably camouflaged lizard in a hole very close to the ground 15 feet below, a mother sloth and her baby hanging on a branch at least a hundred feet up (the last of which has Brittany, Cas and Jack all a little teary-eyed).

By the time they get to the end, they’ve reached a section of the beach inaccessible except to park patrons. Their guide, Josue, points them to the changing stations and warns them to keep an eye on their bags around the black and white monkeys (Sam’s memory supplies that they’re Capuchins, probably a detail he remembers from the anthropology class he took forever ago at Stanford).

While Castiel and Jack are preoccupied watching the monkeys playing close to the beach, Sam and Max both head to the changing stations to stow their hiking clothes and put on their bathing suits. His boyfriend’s made it clear that he wants to enjoy the sun as much as possible. Sam hasn’t been to the beach in forever – since Stanford, actually – but sitting and soaking up the sun doesn’t sound half-bad.

Dean clearly has other ideas. “Think I’ve had enough of the park,” he declares, eyeing the Capuchins warily. “Gonna explore the town a bit. Might head back early, take a nap.” Max snorts.

“‘Fraid your lily-white ass will sunburn?” He teases. The older hunter flips him off.

“Listen, I have no problem suntanning,” Dean says. “But if I’m gonna do it, it’s gonna be drinking a beer, far away from klepto monkeys.” Max shrugs, nodding in concession. Sam looks to the other three.

“How bout you guys?” He asks.

“Jack and I will probably explore the park a bit more,” Castiel says. “The guide was very perceptive, but there are things no human could perceive that we want to go back and have a closer look at.” Sam grins. He knows the museum was something Jack deliberately picked out for his enjoyment, and that he wanted to have some time alone with Sam at the café. This park was obviously chosen for Castiel, and now the Nephilim wants to have some time alone with his angelic parent.

“Course. Have fun,” he says. His eyes flit to Mary, still dressed in her hiking clothes. “Mom? You heading back with Dean?”

“Yeah, not really the beach type,” she answers after a pause. Sam nods. Handing off everything he and Max don’t need to Dean, they part ways with their group, heading closer to the water. The ocean looks refreshing, a deep navy blue with rippling white crests. For right now, though, neither of them has an interest in swimming.

The enormous beach blanket Max bought is spread out beneath the two of them, large enough to stretch out on and yet still have room for their beach bag and towels. Once they have their sunscreen applied, they’re ready to relax. Sam even has a book in tow, a sizable science fiction novel.

An hour or so goes by, the two men lying together taking in everything around them. The crashing of the waves onto the shore, the chattering of beach goers, the intense heat of the sun. Even if he still has hesitations about this trip, Sam can’t deny he’s missed the Pacific. Missed having downtime to relax without being made to feel guilty.

“This is nice,” Max sighs. Sam smiles, turning away from the struggles of the Rocinante crew to look at his boyfriend. There isn’t a time where he hasn’t found Max attractive, but spread out like this, soaking up the sun, he looks especially handsome.

“It is,” he agrees. Rolling onto his side, Max cracks a single eye open.

“You know, all those girls at morning yoga were checking you out,” the witch teases, nudging his leg with a foot. “Thank God I don’t normally have to fend off thirsty hordes when we work out.” Snorting, Sam saves his spot with a bookmark before placing the book down.

“That’s because the only people we work out with are my family,” he points out, resting his head down over folded arms. “And I wasn’t the one they were checking out.” Max chuckles, mimicking Sam’s pose.

“Mmm,” he says, very articulately, still playing footsie with Sam. After a moment, Max slides closer to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Sam answers. It’s not wholly untrue, so he tries not to feel too bad. This line of questioning has his muscles tensing. “Why?” Max shrugs, rolling onto his back once more.

“I know you were nervous about going on vacation,” he says. “Not like the rest of us weren’t. But I know you. You feel the most comfortable when you’re working a case. And the second there’s a hint of one here, you jump right on it.”

Sam’s stomach does a dip. The words feel almost like an accusation, even though Sam’s rational mind assures him that Max is just trying to help. He is paranoid, no doubt about it. But there’s layers and layers of trauma here, and just because he’s comfortable enough being naked in front of Max doesn’t mean he wants to lay everything bare.

“You thought it was a case, too,” he points out. Max – beautiful, understanding Max – doesn’t get mad, doesn’t flinch. He smiles softly, nodding.

“I still do,” he admits. “Because I don’t think a developing country that relies on tourism from first-world white people would rest easy if these white people were getting abducted. But I want to know what’s on your mind.” He brings a hand to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “I want to make sure you’re not burying yourself in your work.”

Sam thinks for a while. His shoulders loosen at the witch’s touch, and he turns onto his back. He can’t be dismissive to Max, not like he might if someone with a lot less tact was asking. He agreed to not treat the disappearances like a potential case the night before, but that didn’t stop him from scrolling through the photo album of local myths he had on his phone from the Costa Rican National Museum the moment he was alone.

“I just don’t relax easily,” he says. “It wasn’t our dad’s fault, but he kind of was overwhelmed with a paranoia about settling down. I might’ve been able to shrug that off, go to college and everything – but then it blew up in my face. And Dean kind of internalized a lot Dad’s stuff, so –”

“Even if you were able to tune out your dad’s guilt-tripping, you weren’t able to tune out his,” Max supplies. Sam nods. He knows Dean didn’t do it intentionally, obviously. They all have their baggage. It’s just so ironic, now that Dean seems to be free of all the emotional obligations put on him by their dad, that his brother’s confused as to why Sam’s still carrying the obligations that Dean put on him.

“We’re working on it,” He says. Which isn’t untrue. “Even yesterday there was some progress. We’re getting towards being a normal family that talks about their feelings.”

“Not in a gay way, I hope.”

Snorting, Sam elbows his boyfriend. In retaliation, the witch rolls on top of him, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t worry, not in a gay way,” The older hunter says. “Dean won’t even admit you’re a quality boyfriend.” Feigning offense, Max clutches his chest.

“How dare, I am of the highest quality. USDA approved organic.” Sam chuckles. Sighing, he wraps his arms around Max’s waist, pulling him down into a hug. They lay there in silence for a moment, before Sam brings his hand a little further down. “Babe, you do know this is a beach with people watching.”

“I know,” he replies. “We’re not doing anything wrong.” Max snorts, reaching for the hand around his thigh. Slipping down off his perch atop Sam, the witch lies down next to him.

“You can get handsy all you want, later,” Max promises, wrapping Sam’s hand in his. “Once we’re tanned and sexy and alone.”

_ And we’ve had the talk you wanted to have last night, _ Sam adds silently.

* * *

Sam pounces on Max the second he walks into the single. The witch seems a little taken aback, but Sam can’t really blame him – he feels like a man possessed. Almost.

“Thought we were g-gonna talk first,” Max breathes out, leaning back to give Sam better access to his throat. Sam hums, the vibrations forcing a moan from the younger man’s lips.

“Not right now,” Sam begs, continuing his ministrations. “We didn’t finish this morning.” Max nods, pulling at his shirt until the buttons come loose. Soon, the two of them have completely stepped out of their clothes, falling against the bed.

“You’ve been really eager lately,” Max comments, chuckling as Sam plants a row of kisses down his stomach. From this angle, the witch’s eyes are practically shut, expression heady with lust. “This is like, the third time in three days.” His head tilts back in ecstasy as Sam’s nails rake down his side.

“Third time’s the charm?” Sam shrugs, silently hoping the adage holds true. Chuckling, Max yanks him closer, tugging back his hair to expose his throat. To the end of his days, Sam will deny the whimper that slips out of his lips as Max’s teeth brush his skin.

_ Please let this be the time _ , he prays.

Hands slide up and down Sam’s back. Max’s body’s burning hotter than it ever has before, and so is his, newly tanned skin still radiating the heat absorbed from the sun. The AC’s off, Sam’s made sure of that this time – the entire room’s sweltering with the tropical climate that surrounds them.

Max looks up at him, golden eyes almost black with how dilated his pupils are. His face is a strange mix of admiration and lust, and to be honest, it’s hard for Sam not to get high off that look. The fact that someone as beautiful as the witch, inside and out, could stare at him with such naked arousal, makes him feel so much more powerful than demon blood ever could. 

Sam brings a hand to rest on Max’s chest. His boyfriend’s heart pounds faster and faster beneath his palm. At this point, he isn’t sure if it’s from fear or excitement, or maybe a combination of both.

“Sam, please…” Max whispers. He looks up to Sam with wide, pleading eyes.

_ His heart is pounding deliciously. Remembering how it felt to tear it out? Why not try it again, only for real. _

Beneath him, Max has abruptly stopped. Looking down, Sam can see the pleasure fading fast from his face, replaced with concern.

“Fuck.” Sam’s trying his hardest not to cry in frustration, but his eyes are already stinging. “Shit, shit, shit.” Max’s hold on his hips starts to loosen.

“Sam,” he whispers, reaching up to wipe at Sam’s face. Pushing away the hand, Sam leans down to pull him into a kiss.

“I’m fine,” He assures him, grinding his hips against Max’s. “Just keep going.” Pulling away from the kiss, Max sighs.

“Sam –”

“I’m fine, Max,” He lies, vision blurring.

_ Wow, Dean did have one thing right, Sam Winchester really does cry his way through sex. _

“Sam, stop –”

“Please, just keep –”

He’s aware of briefly being lifted up into the air, before he lands hard onto his back on the bed. Max is standing over him, way past concern and pushing toward angry.

“What the hell, Sam?” He demands, glaring him down. Yeah, he’s the one who should be angry in this situation. Not like Sam just got knocked flat on his ass or anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Sam repeats, sitting up.

“Yeah, and I can tell you’re not!” That familiar nasty feeling, righteous and ferocious and all too much like Lucifer, seethes and grows in his chest.

“What, is mind reading part of your powers now too?” He bites. This is stupid. It’s stupid and self-destructive and he should be apologizing instead of acting like some snarky child.

“What, you think you’re the only person who has the obscure and mysterious ability of empathy?” Max shoots back. “I’m not stupid, Sam, I can tell you weren’t comfortable.” Of course. Because Max can’t help but see him as a fragile thing to protect, to make choices for him because he was too stupid to understand, just like John and Dean and Cas.

“If I needed you to stop, I would’ve told you to stop.” He says, getting to his feet. Max gives a harsh laugh.

“Yeah, cause you’re the peak of self-awareness when it comes to knowing your limits.” He spits. “Not like you always consistently feel the need to push yourself to exhaustion or agony for no reason except your desire to self-destruct.”

Sam’s on his feet now. He still might feel a chill running through his body, but his blood’s thrumming and hot in his veins. His head’s pounding so fast he swears that the furniture sounds like it’s rattling around him.

“I’m not stupid.” He says through clenched teeth. If nothing else, he can’t shout this at Max. He has to make sure he’s completely under control, otherwise he just proves his point. “I can make my own decisions about sex. I’m older than you, by a long shot, so I don’t need you to make my decisions for me like a child. If that bothers you so much, you can leave.”

Max doesn’t respond right away. They stare each other down, both still breathing heavily from yelling at each other. In the corner of his mind, Sam realizes this is the first fight they’ve had.

He wonders if it’s their last.

Nodding to himself, Max breaks eye contact first, looking around the room. Grabbing his clothes off the ground, he gets dressed in almost record time, before making his way over to the door. Max looks to Sam one last time, his expression almost sad.

He closes the door softly behind him.

* * *

Dean’s having the time of his life at the poolside bar. Sure, the beer might be crap and the cocktails might be overpriced and watered-down. But without any kid-watching or angel-babysitting duties, he feels practically twenty-six again. There’s cute girls in bathing suits, oohing and ahhing at the patented Dean Winchester charm.

Of course, some of the girls are half his age, still in college. Probably rich with loads of Daddy issues, interested in him mostly because he’s everything they’re not supposed to chase after. So, he’s not gonna let it go further than just some nice flirting with them. He’s not a creep – he just likes the attention. It peels the years right off.

“Wanna come back to our room, handsome?” asks Jenni, a blond woman much closer to his age. Dean smirks, taking a swig of the shitty Costa Rican beer.

“What for?” He says, playing dumb.

“We’ll show you a good time.” Says Nicole, Jenni’s best friend and roommate. The two of them are here on a trip celebrating Vicki’s recent divorce from her “cheating bastard ex-husband”, courtesy of the fat alimony check he had to write her.

“I’m interested,” Dean winks, looking between them. It’s been a while since he’s had a threeway, but if their sex lives have been unsatisfactory as they’ve made them sound, he can leave them more than satisfied with his skills.

Plus, both of them are within a few years of his age – Nicole’s actually a little older. And while they’ve been keeping up with his drinking, they’re level-headed enough that Dean can have a clear conscience about it.

“I’d love to,” He grins, scanning the bar. “So, what do you say, do we head up now or…” Whatever words he was about to say die off, as his eyes focus on the far side of the pool.

Max is fast approaching the bar. If looks could kill, they’d all be dead before the witch could do so much as blink. And Sam’s not anywhere in sight. Dean lets out a weary sigh.

“Actually, have to take a rain check on that party for three, ladies.” He says, not looking away from the witch. “I’ve got a little bit of a family emergency.”

* * *

Mary’s about ready to wind down for the night. She’s already taken a shower, standing under the hot water stream desperately wishing that her room had a tub. The Wi-Fi signal’s pretty bad anywhere except directly in front of the hotel, so she accepts that streaming movies isn’t a reality.

So instead, she’s sitting in her bathrobe, thumbing through  _ The Heart of the Wolf _ by Irma Allen. Not super exciting, but the only other option’s the bar. And frankly, the thing she wants most is a moment to herself.

A soft knock on the door pulls a sigh from her. Getting up and stowing the novel underneath a pillow, she makes her way across the room. Pulling tightly on the fastens to make sure the robe’s staying put, she turns the knob and opens the door.

“Sam,” she says, not able to keep the surprise out of her own voice. Her son’s hovering in the hall outside her door. His arms are folded over his chest, neck bending down slightly, making him look surprisingly small for his height.

“Hey, Mom,” he answers, giving a tiny smile. Maternal instinct doesn’t come naturally to Mary with the boys, given how they went from babies to fully-grown hunters within the blink of an eye from her perspective, but she’d be lying if she said her heart doesn’t skip a beat whenever Sam calls her that. She takes in his eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot. Judging by his voice, he’s been crying.

Mary lets out a sigh, pulling him into a hug. Strong arms wrap around her, clinging to her like they’re holding on to dear life. Suddenly, it’s 1983 again, and her baby needs her.

Pulling him into the room, she lets him tell her about the whole ordeal with Max. Though to call it an ordeal feels like a massive understatement. It’d be more appropriate to call it a gigantic mess.

Mary’s first thought, automatically, is guilt. She might’ve noticed something was going on that wasn’t completely right between them, but she’d stepped back and assumed they would work it out. And of course, her assumption was wrong. Because a good mom’s always supposed to notice something’s wrong, and she’s anything but.

Somehow, this crisis is more daunting than any of those she’s faced since coming back. Even if all the monsters Sam and Dean have faced become more and more outlandish from anything she’s ever seen, she can at least try to approach it from her hunting experience.

In this case, she’s defenseless. Being dead for most of her sons’ lives means she’s missed every other experience Sam’s had with love – first crush, first high school dance, first heartbreak. The last ways she helped parenting him were burping and feeding and changing diapers. Now, he’s just a strange man towering over her, expecting her to give words of comfort on a situation she’s never lived through.

There’s not even a co-parent or someone who’s already lived this that Mary can call on. John’s dead, and so is her own mom, and the Bobby she brought back with her from the Apocalypse world is even more of a stranger to the boys than she is.

“I’m sorry,” Sam apologizes, wiping at his eyes. “It was stupid, to come bother you like this. I’ll just head out.” And that makes it worse, somehow. That Sam feels like an inconvenience for coming to her. That he expects nothing, and is giving her an out. But Mary’s nothing if not proud. She’ll stay here with Sam for as long as he needs.

“You can stay, too, if you like,” she says, taking his hand. “I can’t say much to help, but I can stay with you.” Sam doesn’t respond, but his expression’s so hopeful that Mary’s heart breaks just a little. She pulls him close, taking in the scent of her son. It still feels strange, holding him like this when she can still remember holding him as a baby. And yet, a familiar calm washes over her. Mary presses a kiss to his cheek, pulling him closer. “I love you, Sam.”

* * *

“One mojito, please,” Max says to the nearest bartender, pulling up a seat beside Dean. The hunter’s not one to judge appearances, but the witch looks disheveled, like he got dressed in a hurry. His skin’s coated in a layer of sweat – what from, Dean really doesn’t want to know.

“Rough night?” He asks, as the bartender places the drink in front of Max. Taking a sip, the witch pulls a face. Dean sympathizes – the mojito was the first cocktail off the menu he tried, and it might as well be tequila-laced water. “Yeah, not the greatest.”

“Not in the mood,” Max warns, lifting the glass up to his lips again. Shrugging, Dean goes back to his own drink.

“Fine,” He says. “As long as there’s not a little brother crying somewhere that I need to beat your ass for.”

The bait goes off like a charm. Putting his drink down on the counter, Max rests his head in his hands.

“No,” he answers. “Last I saw he was yelling.” Dean winces. As far as he knows, they’ve never fought with each other. Not significantly enough for Sam to tell him about, at least, but then again, Sam went most of his life without telling Dean that he was into guys as well as women, so what does he know.

“Yikes,” he says, patting the witch roughly on the back. It’s a little early to be expressing sympathy, especially when his default is ‘ _ Sammy’s always right, anyone who hurts him is lower than garbage _ ’, but he’s known Max for over a year now. Kid’s a good guy.

“Having issues with your sex life?” He half-jokes. That might not be the only issue, but it’s obvious enough that it’s a significant one. Sam was bitchy the first day when Dean teased about it. He was afraid that his brother might rip Cas’ head off for bringing it up last night, but thankfully Sam was able to just walk it off.

“Could say that.” Max finishes off the mojito, asking the bartender for two tequila shots when he comes to take the glass.

“Well, you know,” Dean leans in. “If you need someone to vent to…” Jesus Christ, he’s either really drunk or really mushy to be asking for the dirty details on his baby brother’s gay sex habits.

The witch inspects him with a careful eye. Dean can’t exactly blame him. He hardly believes he’s volunteered himself for this situation. As the bartender returns with the tequila shot, Max hands one of the glasses to him.

“Cheers,” The witch says grimly. Dean downs the shot, shuddering as it sears the inside of his mouth.

“‘Nother round, please,” he asks the bartender. Max gives him a wide smirk, normally reserved for winding Dean up about dating his little brother. “Don’t gimme that look. I need it to get through this conversation.”

“Fair.” Once the second round comes and Dean’s loosened by another burning hot shot of tequila, he feels brave enough to talk.

“So,” he turns back to Max. “What’s the problem?” The witch sighs, leaning back in his chair. He’s more than a decade younger than Dean – in Earth time, at least – but he looks beyond old and tired.

“We’ve been having…issues… since before we came to Costa Rica.” That bit’s obvious enough – Dean could tell from the hotel room the first day. “I haven’t minded. Not really. It’s frustrating, but I understand why it’s an issue.” Dean frowns, not exactly sure what the other man is getting at.

“What, like problems getting it up?” He isn’t sure Sam’s old enough for that, and feels stupid asking, but dancing around the question doesn’t help. Max pauses for a moment, before shaking his head.

“No, it’s much…deeper than that,” he answers. “I know it’s not about me. Obviously, it was before you two even met me.” Max is going off on a tangent, and Dean’s not sure he even knows what the guy’s rambling about, but he’ll let him talk. “I didn’t expect the problems to be over just because I came into the picture.” The problems aren’t over, but Sam’s sure as hell been happier than Dean’s seen him in a long while.

“Right,” the older man says, sitting back in his chair.

“It’s just,” Max holds his head in his hands, letting out a noise of frustration. “It’s hard not to want it, badly, when I know he’s not ready.” Okay,  _ that’s _ a step too far.

“Hey,” Dean says sharply, glaring the witch down. “His body, his rules.” Jesus, it sounds like he’s talking to the boyfriend of his teenage daughter, not his mountain of a brother who can clearly stand up for himself. The witch laughs, except this time it’s an ugly, nasty sound.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Max says, knocking back his refilled shot glass. Dean splutters in confusion.

“I’ve never –”

“Oh, spare me.” The younger man rolls his eyes. “Sam told me all about Gadreel. How you tricked him into being possessed, before the angel hijacked his mind and went on a killing spree. Then you bullied him into making him believe he was an asshole for being mad about it.” He’s drunk, talking bullshit he really doesn’t know about. Mad at everything and everyone right now. That’s why he gets a pass. Otherwise, Dean would’ve knocked him into next week by now.

Of course Sam’s still angry about the Gadreel crap. He might’ve said he was okay with it as Dean lay dying, but that’s just some vague bullshit anyone says. Doesn’t matter why Dean did it, all that matters to Sam is that he wasn’t listened to.

“That’s not even close to the same thing –” Dean begins to protest, before Max cuts him off again.

“Right, cause he’s your brother, and he was dying, and all the same reasons I thought it was okay to do what I did to Alicia.” The witch shakes his head in disdain. “Point is, you had enough instinct to know what you were doing was wrong, and it was against Sam’s wishes.”

“That has nothing to do with what you’re talking about,” Dean counters, inches away from Max’s face. Everyone around them is too drunk to pay attention, otherwise they’d probably be pulling the two of them apart. Max scoffs.

“It has everything to do with it, you moron, and you know it. You convinced him that he should be okay with it, the same way Lucifer did.” Dean’s blood is pounding, fists clenched. It’s nothing like Lucifer did. The kid’s too heated to listen to him now, so he doesn’t bother wasting his breath. He’ll just have to correct his wrong opinion later.

Anyways, Max is miles away from their conversation now, staring out into nothing.

“Like Bevell did,” he says. Almost immediately, the anger and rage inside goes out, replaced by confusion. Bevell might’ve been a bitch, but she was a human one. She couldn’t possess people. “Sam hasn’t been with anyone since she fucking forced herself onto him and made him think he enjoyed it, and sleeping with women was hard enough after Lucifer –“

Dean feels a knot in the pit of his stomach. He’s close to throwing up, and alcohol has little to do with it.

“They –” He can’t even bring himself to say the words. Max mirrors his expression, eyes growing wide in realization.

“You didn’t know,” He whispers, horrified.

Know? That every lewd joke he’d made about possession, every sick analogy, was much closer to the truth for Sam than he’d thought?

Of course he didn’t know. Why should Sam trust him? When Dean told him to his face he’d let Gadreel forcibly possess him again.

“Fuck,” he swears, slumping downward. Max looks like he’s about to be sick. Dean can’t exactly blame him. He just revealed something so traumatizing Sam wouldn’t even tell his own flesh and blood about it.

So much for not keeping secrets from each other anymore.

“I’m fine,” Dean lies, reaching for his unfinished shot. There’ll be time to talk about that shit out with Sam later. There’s still the very fresh wound of Sam and Max’s relationship. He forces his brain to compartmentalize Max’s revelation till later – he can treat it with more alcohol once he helps the witch sort out more issues. “So, you two haven’t even had sex yet.” The witch looks confused, clearly surprised how easily Dean’s recovered.

“Uh… yeah,” he says. “We’ve tried, but never finished – Sam usually ends freezing up. And I stop.”

So Sam was clearly lying the other day when he joked about having shower sex. For what, normalcy’s sake? Dean cocks an eyebrow. Maybe he’s a little confused on the big picture.

“So why the fighting?” He asks, frowning slightly. Max shakes his head.

“Since we’ve come to Costa Rica, I think Sam’s gotten a little desperate,” he answers. “He’s been really wanting to just plow through sex, for my benefit I think. Tonight, we were getting into it–”

“Gross,” Dean says, pulling a face.

“You’re forty, dude, get over it – and I could tell he wasn’t into it, so I stopped. And he just kept telling me he was fine, and was pushing and pushing for me to keep going.” Max looks upset even talking about it. “So I pushed him off.”

“And?”

“He just got mad, saying he was fine with it.” Max gives a weak chuckle. “You know how he is. He’ll push himself through something even if it hurts him, for other people’s sake.” 

Dean gives a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Trust Sammy to treat sex like a hunt. Pushing himself to a degree beyond what he was willing to push anyone else to, and snap when those around him expressed concern. Like Max, right now, fresh from getting torn a new one because Sam can’t fathom another person wanting him to not push himself to levels of discomfort. Dean realizes that this is probably the longest conversation the two of them have held alone – not a big surprise it’s about Sam.

“Hey,” He says, breaking the silence. “For the record, I think you’re a good guy.” Max huffs, currently in a staring contest with his third shot glass.

“Maybe,” he answers, not sounding entirely convinced. “I didn’t do it entirely for Sam.” Picking the glass up, he stares through it like a magnifying glass. Dean privately wonders if the witch’s trying to divine the truth using the leftover drops of booze. “Is it selfish that I didn’t want to have sex? That I don’t want our first time to be cold and trauma-ridden, even though that might be all Sam can give?”

That’s a question Dean’s not sure he’s ever heard before. How could he, anyway? The longest he’s been with a woman besides Lisa was Cassie, and they’d lasted lasted a hot two weeks. Every other girl he’s had sex with has for one night, two or three if he had a layover. If he could tell she wasn’t into it, he didn’t have to be her therapist - he could just pack her up and send her on her way. What Max is talking about is above his paygrade.

Dean doesn’t get time to answer, because his thoughts are cut off by a piercing shriek. Instincts have his eyes darting to the end of the bar, where a young college girl is looking white as a sheet. Following her gaze, Dean’s eyes come to rest on what caused her to scream.

At the far side of the pool is Brittany, still in her bathing suit from earlier and trembling.

And covered head to toe in blood.


	5. Meanwhile, My family's taking Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Sam have a run-in, then a heart-to-heart. Max makes small talk with Mary.

In maybe half an hour tops, the Quepos regional police are at the hotel. By that time, a significant crowd’s already formed around the pool. Sam and Mary were among the first, having been close enough to the pool when the commotion started. Unfortunately, they seem to have about as much an idea about what’s happening as Dean and Max do.

Brittany’s sitting on one of the lounge chairs, blond hair still matted down by dirt and blood. Dalila, the receptionist who checked them in yesterday, is sitting beside her, one of the hotel towels draped over the girl’s shoulders as she mutters quietly to her. However, the other woman doesn’t show any signs of being responsive. She continues to quake silently, eyes still dilated from whatever encounter she’s had.

The paramedics give Brittany a once over when they finally arrive, determining most of her cuts to be minor. Her primary issue currently being shock. By the time Jack and Castiel join their group, they’re hauling her into the ambulance.

“What happened?” The Nephilim asks, looking fearfully at the spot the ambulance had just left. Dean shrugs, leaning back against the bar counter.

“Animal attack, they say” he answers grimly. His eyes flick up to Sam, and it just takes a glance for the younger man to know his brother doesn’t believe it.

“Well,” the Nephilim pauses. “That’s terrible, but I guess we are right by a home for wild animals.” The rest of them share a look, shifting around uncomfortably. Jack is definitely smart enough to know it’s not due to chance, and the resignation in his voice makes it clear that he knows where this is going.

Sam glances at Max instinctively, before immediately turning away before he can meet his eyes. Call it pride, but there’s no way he can ask anything of Max right now. Not less than three hours after he treated him like he was brain-dead and incapable of making decisions for himself. He shares looks briefly with Dean, Castiel and Mom, all three having the same silent look of expectation.

“Jack –” He sighs, tongue heavy in his mouth. The Nephilim turns to him, face already falling.

“Come on, dude,” Max says. Resting a hand on Jack’s shoulder, he pulls the boy into a side-hug. “I know this trip was to get away from hunting, but we all know it wasn’t a normal animal that did that.” Sighing, Jack hangs his head slightly. Sam feels like shit on account of that look that passes over his face. He could practically kiss Max for taking charge of breaking the news, were it not for the circumstances.

They all slowly draw away from the crowd, walking down to Mary’s room. No need to risk being overheard, and they definitely need to have a discussion about it now. Jack and Mary sit down side-by-side on the bed, while the men and the angel remain standing.

“So, what do we do?” Jack asks, looking up to all of them.

“I’m not sure what we  _ can _ do,” Castiel admits from his position close to the door. “We don’t have the resources of the bunker, or its armory. We’re outside the United States, and only I could possibly pass as a native speaker of Spanish.”

“So what, we do nothing?” Mary asks, staring at the angel incredulously.

“We might not have a choice,” Dean says, sighing deeply. “You know better than anyone that I don’t want to leave this thing until it’s done, but we might not have an option.”

“So what, Dean,” Sam demands, stepping away from the wall he’s leaning against. “We just soak up the sun pretending like there’s nothing we can do, hope whatever it is doesn’t take us? Sucks to be the people already taken?”

“No, course not, Sammy,” Dean says, sarcastically. “We should risk getting arrested trying to snoop around in a place where not even two of us could pass for native speakers.”

“The American FBI operates in Costa Rica,” Max points out. “It’s surprising enough they haven’t intervened in a case where so many tourists have disappeared. We can pose as agents, we already have the IDs.” The room goes silent once more.

“Still,” Dean says. “That only solves one problem. We have no weapons, no car, and no way of getting around.”

“We have me.” At the sound of his voice, all of the adults turn to look at Jack. The Nephilim looks downcast, arms folded over his chest.

“Jack,” Castiel says, finally. “No one wants to force you to give up on the trip you planned to assist us –”

“The trip I planned was for everyone,” Jack counters, rising to his feet. “I wanted all of us to be a part of it. And I didn’t anticipate there being a hunt – but if a hunt is here, then I want to help.” Sam’s heart clenches. 

He yawns, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ll see what aspects of the trip we can still hold onto. Right now, I think I’d like to go to sleep.” As the young man makes his way to the door, Sam almost stops to say something to him. He’s not exactly sure what – maybe a word of comfort, but he stops himself before he can.

“Kay, guess that’s dealt with,” Dean sighs, after Jack’s already closed the door. He looks back to Sam. “For the record, I still think we should just ignore it. We have bigger issues to deal with.”

Sam frowns. What issues could they have bigger than the case?

Almost instinctively, his eyes flit to Max. Realization hits him, hard. He’d been with his Mom before the screaming, and Cas and Jack had showed up last.

But Dean and Max were there by the time he’d shown up. And judging by their slight stumbling, they’d helped themselves to the bar. And right now they’ve been sharing more eye contact then they have in nearly a year and a half of living together. So, chances are, Max’s told Dean about their fight. Which means Dean, being the older brother he is, will force Sam to talk about his feelings. And his sex life.

Perfect. Cause that’s just the cherry on top of everything in this situation.

“Okay, we can discuss this tomorrow,” Mary says. “Max?” The witch turns to her. “Do you want to have this room to yourself tonight? Sam and I can share.”

Max’s face flickers for a second, showing an expression Sam can’t identify right away, before nodding. Anger? He can’t be mad that Sam told his Mom about their fight when he went and told Sam’s brother.

Maybe he’s angry that he can’t tell his own mom.

Dean and Mary share a look. Even if he can’t tell what’s being carried in the meaning, Sam can tell there’s layers of it, as if they can read each other’s mind. Because of course they do. Dean has the stronger bond with her, and nothing Mary says about wanting to make up for lost time will change that. Sam can’t fault either of them for that. Still, it stings.

Castiel’s completely lost in this situation. Not having the experience the four humans have of masking inconvenient emotions, his confusion’s borne clearly across his face, and Sam loves him for it. Hopefully, if they get split up tomorrow, Sam can be with the angel – no passive aggressive silence or interrogation or well-meaning pity.

“Well, this isn’t awkward,” Dean says, interrupting the silence. “Come on, Magnum PI, let’s see if the bar’s still open.” Castiel in tow, he heads out of the room, sharing a last glance with Max.

“I think we should head out too,” Mary says. Looking to Sam, she smiles softly, tilting her head toward Max.

It’s been forever since Sam’s fought with the person he’s in a relationship with. Which is pretty easy, considering he hasn’t been in anything that could qualify as a relationship since Amelia. And even that relationship wasn’t remotely close to what could be considered normal – Sam’s still not exactly sure whether what they felt was love or just mutual sadistic deep-seated hatred, thriving in each other’s misery until it inevitably drove them apart.

The closest reference he has is when he and Dean have had their feuds. Conversations were hell. Figuring out what to say, or whether not talking altogether would be more ideal. Small talk, silence, shouting, crying – equally unattractive options. Just like right now.

“Sleep easy,” He says finally, halfway out the door. Max examines him, with a look Sam can swear is piercing his very soul.

“You too.” 

* * *

Neither of them keeps their promises, judging by how Max looks the next morning. Dark circles line his eyes, reminiscent of when he was still wandering around with the twig doll version of Alicia.

Guilt creeps in at the sight of his boyfriend. He knows the effect sleeping alone usually has on Max. They’ve been rather deliberate in making sure they rarely get split up for hunts, so that they’re apart as little as possible. And on the hunts they have been apart on, Sam can see the effects they have on Max, even if it’s on FaceTime.

_ Ah, but lover boy was the one to walk out on you, remember? _

That hasn’t been much help either. Sam had the advantage of not sleeping alone the night before, even if he felt a little childish sharing with Mary. Unfortunately, his mom seems to be where Dean gets his snoring from, and her feet are like Thanksgiving turkeys just pulled out of the fridge. So, Sam had a nightmare-filled sleep, mostly of Lucifer, but also of Max, and the twig dolls of his mother and sister. There was even bits of the Apocalypse World, and Stanford memories of Jess and Brady for good measure.

Jack looks miserable when he finally pulls up to breakfast, and the guilt just amplifies. Obviously, Sam didn’t cause the hunt to happen, but he definitely roped the rest of them into it. Because he can’t just let a good thing be.

_ Let’s add ‘Vacation’ to the long long list of things you’ve fucked up. There’s so much already on there. Your family, for one thing. Twice, actually. And there’s a whole mountain of other families you’ve destroyed. The world as a whole, of course. Every relationship you’ve had - _

He’s relieved when the options for partnering comes up, quickly pairing himself up with Castiel. The two of them are planning a quick visit to the Quepos police, posing as locally stationed FBI agents. With hope, there’ll be little side chatter.

Jack drops them right in front of the local police station. Dressed in suits they’ve brought, and a quickly retrieved set of fake badges from all the way in the bunker, they’re ready to stroll through the front doors –

– before Sam almost quite literally runs into a familiar face.

“Dalila,” he blinks. Shit.

“Sam,” The receptionist responds, looking as surprised to see them as they are her. The diminutive Costa Rican woman’s abandoned her Selina uniform, replacing it with jeans, a tank top and plaid flannel on top. Her tiny wooden necklace is still there, strung across her neck.

“Are you here to file a police report too?” He asks, doing his best to concoct an explanation on the spot. 

“Yes,” the woman nods, a little too quickly. “I em, uh… saw Brittany and her boyfriend having an argument yesterday afternoon. I have seen a man harm enough women in my family to recognize the behavior.” Sam blinks, a little shocked at how casually she brings up abuse. It might possibly be a lie, or just a cultural difference, but Sam and Castiel aren’t remotely honest about why they’re here, so he doesn’t press further. 

“Yeah, they seemed kind of off when we went on our tour together,” He says awkwardly, before looking down at his clothes. “Guess we dressed a little too formally for this.” Dalila smirks.

“Or perhaps I didn’t dress enough,” She responds. “The Zarra family name is well-known here, so I suppose I use that to my advantage.” After a pause, she moves between the two of them. “Stay safe on the road home. Like I said, it’s not safe for tourists.”

Sam shares a look with Castiel, knowing that even the angel observed something off about her behavior. There’ll be more time to discuss it later with everyone else, but right now he’s not comfortable with jumping to conclusions about the receptionist.

They enter the station, making their way over to the front desk. The policeman manning it goes stiff once he sees their badges. He shouts for another man in Spanish, who turns out to be the chief of police. If possible, he seems to have had a worse nights’ sleep than Sam or Max. And he doesn’t look remotely happy to see them.

Thankfully, he’s more than cooperative – handing over the file of every missing persons case to occur in Quepos. Other than that, there’s not much helpful information they can provide – other than the fact that Brittany’s the first person to come back covered in blood. Thanking the officers, they leave the police station with the files in tow.

Unfortunately, the walk back to the hotel is quite a distance from the police station– something they didn’t plan on. Still, Sam doesn’t care to bother Jack to teleport them there instantaneously, while he has his own work on the case to do. Might be an hour on foot, but Sam’s not exactly rushing to be back around everyone else.

He’s still hurt from what happened with Max last night. He’s sure his boyfriend had a reason, but right now just being around him has Sam shutting down emotionally. And chances are that’ll only make Max more frustrated. Rightfully so, probably.

Jack’s hurting too. And it’s hard not to feel like a bad parent, but Sam is at a loss of what to do. He definitely had a role in pulling them all away from the vacation, but it’s not like they could ignore what was happening. Even if he didn’t seem eager, Jack was the one to ultimately decide they should work on the case. And maybe it was selfish, but Sam didn’t want to have to admit to him that he didn’t want to be on vacation, right now. Because if anything, it’s just exacerbating all of the issues he and Max have been going through.

Jack’s also far too perceptive for his own good. Even if Sam were to try and sit him down, try and gauge how he’s feeling emotionally, he would inevitably ask about what’s going on between Sam and Max. And that was a talk he didn’t want to burden the young man with.

He’s already burdened Mom enough with it. Not all the details, but she’s smart enough to paint a picture. He doesn’t even want to tell Dean. Because knowing him, his older brother would put the revelation of all the bad things that have happened to Sam as a failing on his part. Like he was supposed to somehow prevent Sam from falling into the Cage with Lucifer, or stop Bevell from taking advantage when she had the opportunity.

Turning to the angel, Sam gives a little smile. Castiel was naturally curious, but also generally uninterested in Sam. Not in a bad way, of course. But most conversations they had were usually on the issue at hand. Or Dean, or Jack. The angel wasn’t unfeeling towards him, but the last time he showed a strong interest in Sam’s emotions was like, six years ago.

“So, what do you think about the case?” He asks. Castiel does not answer immediately, silently contemplating as they walk along the path. Sam knows that he clearly thought they should do nothing, as did Dean, and they weren’t necessarily wrong for that.

“I agree with Dean that we should remain uninvolved,” he says. “But I don’t disagree with you and Max, either.” Sam frowns, but doesn’t question him on it. “Yesterday, when Jack and I were alone in the forest, I felt something. A presence.”

“Do you have any idea what it was?” Sam asks. The angel shakes his head.

“It was primal,” he says. “I didn’t sense it the first time. The abundance of human souls made it difficult to detect, but whatever it was, it was strong.” Sam takes time to consider the words. “And back at the hotel, it almost felt like we were inside –”

“A bubble?” Sam guesses. Electric blue eyes turning back to him, Cas nods. “Yeah, I felt that, too. Thought it was just being hyperaware of our privilege or something.” The angel tilts his head, clearly not understanding. “We’re in a place that relies on tourism. It probably places higher value on us as tourists than it does on locals. That’s part of the reason why we –” he stumbles over his words a little. “Why Max and I both thought it was fishy that all the recent disappearances had been tourists.”

“Ah,” Castiel answers. “I’m well aware that human interactions can be complex, especially when you can find minute differences with which to divide and classify yourselves. But the bubble I observed wasn’t metaphorical. It’s more of an energy field.”

“Huh.” He’ll have to be more observant when they get back. “Do you think the others noticed?”

“Jack and Max certainly will, if they haven’t already,” the angel says. “Dean and your mother might sense there’s something wrong with the forest, on an instinctual level, but even as seasoned hunters, they’re unlikely to pick up on energies like this. Humans generally don’t have the senses for it.”

“So why can I sense them?” Sam wonders aloud. The angel gives a shrug.

“You have had a stronger connection to the supernatural than Dean, Sam,” he says. “Years ago, I might have assumed it was from the demon blood or Lucifer’s influence. But now, I think it was with you before either of them. Your frequent contact with myself and Rowena, and now Jack and Max as well, has probably exacerbated it.”

_ That might explain the dreams _ , Sam thinks. It’s a little odd, considering he’s been surrounded by the supernatural day-in and day-out since as long as he can remember.

But then again, it’s not like he’s shared the same living space as the supernatural up until recently. Castiel and Rowena had previously been transient presences in their lives, never staying. Now Castiel finally has his own room in the bunker, and Rowena might as well have.

“If you want to learn how to use your abilities, you might want to consult with Max,” the angel pauses, tilting his head yet again. “Or Rowena, if you and Max are still arguing by the time we’re home.” And just like that, a wave of tiredness washes over Sam.

“We aren’t arguing,” He says. It would’ve been too much hope to avoid talking about the Max situation. “Everything’s fine, Castiel. I’m fine.”

“I can tell when humans are lying,” the angel reminds him. “And even if I didn’t, I’ve known you and your brother for a decade. Whenever one of you says you’re fine, chances are you’re the farthest thing from it.” 

_ He has a point there, _ Sam thinks to himself. 

Cas continues. “You and Max have been off, energetically speaking, since you stepped off the plane.”

Sam silently weighs the benefits of spending the rest of the walk to the hotel in silence. But he knows the angel means well and deserves better than being shut out.

“I don’t want to put my problems on you, Cas,” he says. To his surprise, the angel actually laughs, reaching out a hand to stop him.

“Talking to me about your emotions is by no means an inconvenience,” Castiel says, turning to him. “You’re my family, Sam. And I love you.”

Sam’s face breaks out into a smile. Arms reach out to envelop the angel into a tight embrace. Cas lets out a sigh, relaxing into the gesture. Sam suddenly realizes how rarely any of them show affection, and what a crying shame that is. He can’t remember the last time he hugged his friend, and is overwhelmed by how cathartic it feels.

“Sorry,” Sam says when he lets the angel go. After a few mutually assuring awkward pats on the back, they keep walking home. “Yeah, Max and I are –” Sam doesn’t know how to define what they’re going through, in a way that would make sense to Cas. They’ve never had any serious fights before, only Max getting on his case because he isn’t getting enough sleep or food or something. “ – we’re fighting.” 

The angel nods, as if he suspected it. Which, in fairness, he did.

“I assume it has something to do with sex.” The bluntness in which the angel says it has Sam suck in a breath. Thank God the winding road they’re walking down is completely empty, because Sam would probably be dying of embarrassment right about now. He lets out an awkward chuckle.

“U-uh, yeah, yeah that’s right,” Sam stutters, running a hand through his hair. Giving the angel a sex talk isn’t very high on his to-do list. He barely has the courage to give Jack one. “It’s uh, complicated. Max is great and all, but we haven’t had sex yet.” Castiel turns to him, blue eyes shining with intensity.

“Because of what Lucifer did.”

Sam comes to a halt. He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him, and he’s not sure he can remember how to breathe. He turns to the angel.

“How did – ”

“I have your memories of the cage,” Castiel answers, as if the answer were obvious. “Ever since I took the damage from breaking your wall.”

Sam’s hit by a wave of shame. Castiel’s seen firsthand what Sam experienced in the Cage. And if he knows, then Dean definitely does, because the angel would never hide a single thread of information about Sam from his older brother. This weakness he thought he’d hidden so well has really been out in the open since the moment he left the cage.

“Right,” Sam says, calmly as he can. He really should take Mia up on her therapy offers, because he’s been an emotional wreck as of late. Right now, he’s grappling between sad and angry. “So, why did Dean not say anything?” The angel frowns, staring down at his feet.

“I didn’t tell Dean,” he says. “It was never a pressing issue, and I figured you would be ready to discuss it whenever the time came.” Almost as soon as the fear manifests, it abates. A level of shame and disgust is still there, but not as overwhelming.

“Uh, thanks,” he tells the angel. “I know I should tell him, but I just don’t want Dean knowing.” Castiel gives another confused look, and Sam can sense another round of questions coming on. “He likes to handle me with kid gloves enough as it is.”  _ Him and Max both _ , he thinks. “I didn’t want to give him another reason to.”

They continue on in silence for a while, the heat of the sun bearing down on them. This isn’t exactly how Sam wanted to spend the day, but at this point it’s unavoidable.

“Do you think what happened to you makes you weak, Sam?” The question surprises him – Castiel’s been managing to do that a lot today.

The simple answer would be yes, but Sam can’t bring himself to say it aloud.

“I’m not sure,” he opts for instead. Not the truth, but not enough of a lie for Castiel to see, hopefully. The angel’s eyes narrow. Whether he senses Sam’s hesitation or not, the hunter can’t say.

“Would you consider Max weak, if he were in the same circumstance? Or Dean, or myself?”

“Of course not,” Sam answers, almost on instinct. A thousand protests rise up in his mind, about how he’s not them, and how it’s ridiculous to carry these fears when both Bevell and Lucifer are dead.

“You are one of the strongest people I know, Sam,” Castiel says, smiling softly. “Your greatest fault is you’ve never learned to be gentle with yourself.”

“You’re probably right,” He admits, not daring to contradict the angel’s first statement even though he wholeheartedly disagrees. “That’s why Max got mad at me last night, actually.” Castiel doesn’t give a response, just another piercing gaze. “I just don’t think it can be talked away. There’s more to it.” The angel pauses.

“Well, there’s always more time for you to work through it. Max is fundamentally a good person. He’ll listen. He’s almost as pig-headedly stubborn as you and your brother - I’m sure he’ll insist on it sooner or later.” A genuine laughter bubbles up in Sam’s chest, escaping out through a round of chuckling.

“Yeah, he is,” Sam admits. The angel’s not entirely wrong. Still, he needs to wait a while before they talk. Parts of him are still angry and talking right now will only make things worse.

He can only hope Max is patient enough to wait, too.

* * *

Max’s been with quite a few guys. Almost none of whom would qualify as boyfriends. The hunting lifestyle doesn’t allow for dating in general, just awkward hookups. This is especially true for a gay hunter, considering most other hunters are backwoods hillbillies who know less about gay people then they do about monsters, and will keep you at arms’ distance for fear of catching “the homo”.

There’s married hunters, of course, but those couples have no relationship problems because their relationships are based solely on survival. Without hunting, they’d probably last a month. Two, tops.

Most of his understanding of relationships has been informed, instead, by rom-coms of the Hallmark variety. Alicia used to love those kinds of movies, ironically for the cheese factor, and would bully him into watching them with her.

Now he’s wishing he paid closer attention, because he’s across the table from his boyfriend’s mom, right after they’ve had their first big fight. If that’s not awkward enough, he’s pretty sure Sam spent most of last night talking with his mom, so at this point Max probably registers as lower than garbage in her mind.

Granted, silently sitting together and doing research on local disappearances isn’t too interactive, so Max’ll live. Even if it’s tempting as anything to start his drinking at a little past noon, but that would probably do nothing to improve Mary’s opinion of him right now. He could try doing the research from his room, but the hotel Wi-Fi only seems to work at the very front.

Given the two of them have the most limited Spanish capabilities, it makes little sense that they’re the ones left to do research. There’s only a handful of search results in English. It’s mostly a process of shoving local online articles through google translate and trying to make sense of the mismatched grammar and phrases spat out.

“Find anything yet?” Mary asks. Looking up from the screen, Max sees that she ary still hasn’t peeled her eyes away from her own, continuously flitting from one side of the screen to the other.

“Nothing promising,” he says. “Apparently, tourists going missing isn’t as unusual as we’d like to think.” The woman doesn’t give a response, continuously reading. “How bout you?”

“Not much either,” She says, still not looking up. “There’s something about an American researcher wandering into the jungle and never being seen again, but that was about two and half years ago and 150 miles away.” Max considers. Doesn’t seem like much but seems like a whole lot more than the 10 tabs he has open on his laptop.

“Sounds better than most of what I have,” He admits. “Everything else is looking like a case of kidnapping.” No answer.

Maybe, in retrospect, romcoms wouldn’t help. There’s not exactly one where a couple struggles with intimacy issues caused by the devil.

“Look,” he reaches across the table to grab her shoulder. Green eyes dart up to look at him, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion like Sam’s do. “I know you might be pissed at me for what happened with Sam last night, and I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be. Can we please just focus the case for now?”

The confusion on her face evaporates. Nodding, she turns back to her computer screen. Max frowns slightly. That was over much faster than he anticipated. Why he was expecting a fiery defensive Mary, he’s not exactly sure. Dean’s the one whose M.O. is being overly defensive of Sam, and it’s not like he was beating Max’s ass last night for yelling at his baby brother. He’s still convinced Mary’s fighting decades of ingrained homophobia with regard to their relationship, but from what Sam’s said, she’s not consistently warm and fuzzy like you’d expect a parent to be.

“I’m not mad at you,” She says. Blinking, Max looks up. The older hunter hasn’t peeled her eyes away from the screen.

“Oh,” he responds.  _ Glad we cleared that up, I guess?  _ “But Sam talked to you last night.”

“He did,” She says, nodding again. “But you know, I had my fair share of fights with John.” Looking back up, she shrugs. “I know that usually, no one’s completely blameless in these things. And I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t see how stubborn Sam can be.” Mary gives a chuckle. “You probably have both of us to blame for that.”

He’s not sure if this is how the ‘awkward post-fight conversation with the other person’s parent’ is supposed to go. Honestly, he thought his own family was strange from time to time, but the Winchesters are just fucking weird, full stop.

“We’re both stubborn too, I guess,” He admits. In hindsight, everything leading up to the fight seems so obvious. If they’d talked about their feelings beforehand. If he hadn’t made too many sex jokes, that made Sam feel insecure. If Sam hadn’t felt the need to prove himself, push himself way outside his comfort zone. Mary chuckles, sitting back in her chair.

“You know, it’s not easy,” She admits. Max must look confused, because she clarifies further. “I came from a hunting family too, just like you did. Thought no one around me would ever understand how hard my life was. But Sam and Dean?” Laughing, she shakes her head, not meeting his eyes. “They’re on another level. I don’t think I can ever come close to understanding what they’ve been through.”

“It doesn’t help that they barely talk to anyone,” Max answers.  _ Not even each other,  _ he adds mentally. Sam left the Cage close to a decade ago, and Dean had no clue of what had really happened to him. Until Max and his dumbass drunk mouth exposed it in less than a minute last night. Sam’s eventually gonna find out, because Dean will confront him about it, and then they’ll be over for good.

Mary chuckles again, snapping him out of his headspace.

“That’s more of their inherited stubbornness,” She says, fondness in her voice. Max is starting to realize this is probably the longest conversation the two of them have had together. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard her talk about Sam and Dean the way she is right now.

“It also doesn’t help you weren’t there for most of their lives,” he adds gently. Mary’s silent for a while, staring down at her hands. Anxiety fills him, fearing he said the wrong thing.

“It doesn’t,” she answers. Her voice is steady, mastered. Like she’s willing herself not to react. “Waking up to find you’ve been dead for decades, and the 4-year-old you left behind’s almost forty, and the baby you were holding in your arms is enormous, and already older than you, it’s –” She abruptly cuts herself off.

Max reaches out, taking her hands in his own. He can feel them shaking gently. Whenever they get back from vacation, he is definitely signing them all up for a therapy session. Maybe a few therapy sessions.

“It still feels like a nightmare,” Mary finally exhales, voice quavering. “I keep going to sleep, hoping it’s over when I wake up. For the two damaged older men to be gone and for my babies back.” She turns to him. “Does that make me a bad mom?”

Honestly Max has no clue how the conversation got so far off the rails. Sam might have the worst time expressing his emotions, but it’s genetic, clearly.

“I don’t think there’s a parenting book for this situation,” He answers. Mary shrugs.

“Yeah, there’s not,” She admits. “Which is surprising, considering how available books are these days,” That actually makes Max laugh. Mary smiles at his reaction. “Everyone messes up. Sometimes I feel like Dean expects me to be perfect, like how he remembers me to be. But Sam wasn’t old enough to remember having a Mom, so he’s forgiving enough.”

“I feel like I need some of that forgiveness,” Max sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “I messed up a lot yesterday.” Not that he was entirely wrong, but he’s not going to say that in front of Mary.

“From what I heard, Sam feels like he messed up a lot, too,” She points out. “And this morning, from what I saw, he looked pretty concerned when he was staring at you.” Max wasn’t sure if he’d imagined that out of wishful thinking. Apparently not. He perks up, looking to Mary. “Give it a few days. It might not be resolved, but you might make some headway. Speaking of which,” She closes her laptop, pushing it away. “Maybe it’s time for a break. I think we’re past the point of productivity right now.”

They’ve been at this research for at least two hours, since before the others left, and yielded maybe one useful case, so she probably has a point. Max closes his own laptop, stowing it in the Stanford drawstring bag Sam’s had lying around since 2001.

“We can try the place across the street,” He muses. “The one with the giant airplane sticking out of it.” Smirking, Mary gives a nod. They make their way out of the dining hall to the lobby. Walking over to the steps, they make their way to the tacky restaurant in their line of sight.

As they cross the threshold, a shiver runs down Max’s spine. He feels all too exposed, as if under a microscope, or the watch of a thousand eyes. Even in the brutal heat of tropical summer, his arms are covered with goosebumps. He knows his body’s reacting instinctually, to something thrilling and maybe stupid at the same time, like riding a motorcycle or skinny dipping. But the sensation’s familiar enough.

He felt it yesterday, the last time they left the hotel.

“Wait.” Max stops Mary, grabbing her by the arm.

“Forget something?” She asks, a little confused. Max doesn’t answer. Carefully, he takes a few experimental steps back towards the lobby.

Almost immediately, the reaction vanishes. The goosebumps on his arms start to settle. Endorphins come rushing into his brain, a warm feeling of comfort blossoming in his chest before flooding through the rest of his body. Sticking a leg out forward, he suppresses a shudder. It feels almost like it’s stuck in a pool of water.

Putting his leg back down, Max looks back to Mary, still a few steps down on the stairs, who looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Which is fair, probably. She might have decades on him with regard to a lot of things, but she’s no witch.

“I need to check something,” he says, gesturing for her to follow. Shrugging, the woman backs up the steps, shadowing his movements back to the open air lobby. Max carefully paces around the hotel, eyes scanning everything carefully. Mary’s standing a few feet back, not interrupting but not exactly sure what Max is doing.

“What are you looking for?” She asks. The witch sighs, crouching slightly.

“I won’t know until I see it,” He answers, looking the pillars up and down.

Then, his eyes find their target. On the pillar he’s squatting next to, close to the base, there’s a tiny little squiggle. Max points, glancing back to Mary.

“Does that look like it’s there on accident?” Walking around the other side of the pillar, Mary squints in the general vicinity of where he’s pointing.

“What is that?” She asks.

Max shrugs. It could be nothing, but the fact that Mary didn’t say that to begin with means it’s not.

“Isn’t Hoodoo or Voodoo,” He says. “Not Celtic, or Nordic. Not First Nations.” A smile plays up on his lips. “Mom taught me a lot, but she didn’t exactly have an infinite knowledge of lore. I’m betting it’s from the Indigenous culture.”

“So, what does that mean?” Mary frowns, pulling out her phone to take a picture of the symbol.

“It means,” Max sighs, rubbing an eye. “I’m not the only witch at this hotel.” 


	6. Now we beg for sound advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment in the woods.

_ “We can’t keep her here.” _

_ Sam comes to, opening his eyes to see Jess standing a few feet in front of him. He struggles forward, trying to extend an arm out to grab her, but his limbs are like lead _

_ “I don’t think we can keep her, period,” A male voice, vaguely familiar, says. “She’s carrying a ticking timebomb, and Michael’s hot on our trail. We might have to cut our losses.” _

_ “You can’t possibly be talking about killing her,” Jess objects. Sam tries and fails yet again to get her attention. “She’s a human being, Ty.” _

_ “We’re all humans, Jess. I’m sorry, it’s simple math. One life is worth less than four.” _

_ “It’s not just her life you’re talking about taking!” Sam’s eyes trail downward, and he feels his heart lodge in his throat. _

_ His stomach’s swollen and distended. A pair of hands, too small and delicate and dark to be his, are wrapped protectively around it. They’re trembling, and he can feel his whole body tremble with them. _

_ “Sorry, Jess,” the man responds sarcastically. “I was kind of prioritizing human lives.” _

_ “The land isn’t too damaged here,” A third voice speaks up, this one belonging to another woman, slightly less familiar than the other two. “I can probably look for mugwort, yarrow – make her a tea. It won’t be painless, but she’ll survive.” _

_ “And the baby?” Jess asks. Looking up, Sam sees Tasha Banes out of the corner of his eye. Almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head. _

_ “It’s what needs to be done,” Tasha answers. “We don’t know what Michael wants with them both, but it doesn’t spell good news for any of us.” Jess folds her arms across her chest. _

_ “I’m not making a decision until all of us are here.” She insists. “Besides, this is her choice to make.” Tasha sighs. _

_ “None of us here have any choice.” _

* * *

“I hate this,” Dean grumbles, scratching at his neck.

“Get over it,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. His brother shoots him a dirty look.

“You’re way too into playing dress-up for a guy who’s 36,” He complains. Max and Castiel are the ones in suits today, impersonating an FBI agent and an official from La Dirección de Inteligencia y Seguridad Nacional, respectively.

But for the trip to Lomas de Barbudal Biological Reserve, he and Dean are posing as American primatologists. There’s no specific “look”, but Sam decided khaki pants and short sleeves were a good start.

“We look like zookeepers in a porno,” Dean says, gesturing at their clothes. Beside them, Max snickers.

“Have you watched many Zookeeper pornos, Dean?” He teases, laughing even more when the older hunter flips him off. This is the most Sam’s heard Max talk in days, and in this dynamic it’s almost as if nothing’s wrong. There’s a sharp pain in his chest, as he realizes how much he’s missed this.

In reality there’s nothing Sam wants to do more than have a talk with his boyfriend. But that’s not what they’re here for. They’re investigating the disappearance of Craig Sherwood, a researcher who worked on the reserve. If the timing on the online articles are right, it happened a few months before the spike in disappearances near Manuel Antonio started.

“Why do we have to be the scientists?” Dean demands. “Cas has his weird animal thing, and Max is the treehugger.” Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he had to choose between awkward silence with Max and listening to Dean complain all day, he’s pretty sure he’d take the silence at this point.

“Because I have credentials for the two of us as adjunct faculty from Stanford’s Anthropology Department,” He says, exhaustedly.

“Why do we have those again?” Dean frowns.

“That case we worked near Sioux Falls with Bobby. The Taku-He.” His brother’s eyes widen in recognition.

“Oh yeah. Right. Bigfoot in a top hat.” Dean sighs, scratching his head. “Well, whatever. Hopefully this day doesn’t end with me having to throat-punch a monkey.”

“You’re not gonna punch a monkey, Dean,” Sam sighs.

“Not unless it gets too close,” His brother answers.

Needless to say, Sam’s not overly optimistic.

* * *

Max’s been feeling twitchy, ever since they left the hotel this morning. The night before, when they’d gone over all the information they’d gotten about the case so far, he and Mary had pointed out the wards around the hotel. Unsurprisingly, Castiel and Jack had already sensed them.

Slightly more surprising, however, was the fact that Sam had as well. Max had figured they would’ve been something that only stuck out to those with magic. Not that Sam isn’t insanely competent in other ways, or hadn’t had powers previously. But Max always figured he was the magical one in the relationship. If they still have a relationship.

Any attempts to cross-reference the tiny little symbols scattered all across the hotel on Google yielded zero results, in English and Spanish. Castiel didn’t recognize them, and Sam had sent a few pictures over WhatsApp to Rowena to see if she did, but they all know that the chances the Scottish Sorceress recognizes them are close to none, given that she’s never been south of Cancún.

They’ve all agreed that their best bet right now is that one of the hotel staff is responsible for putting the symbols up. Max has no idea how to narrow the suspect pool further, except by focusing on the employees who look outwardly more Indigenous. Needless to say, that’s levels of gross and problematic that he really doesn’t want to approach.

Jack dropped them about a mile walk from the biological reserve entrance. Last night, when the Nephilim had already gone to bed, the rest of them agreed that he should maybe get a day off. Given this is their only lead right now, there’s not much need for more fruitless research until they have a better idea of what they’re dealing with.

So, Jack’s getting to have another day at a national park, this time in Monteverde, close by the reserve, with Mary as a chaperone. Max could tell right away the Nephilim wasn’t too happy, but he hadn’t wanted to argue with them either.

By some luck of the draw, Max is paired with Castiel today. A karma of sorts, from spending back to back days of awkwardness and tension with Dean and Mary, respectively. Not that the conversations with either of them were all bad. But at this point, the thought of not having to talk awkwardly about their emotions is a welcome relief, and he and Cas probably talk the least together out of the whole group.

He and Dean might’ve had a heart to heart a couple nights ago, but Max isn’t willing to risk that it wasn’t the alcohol making him so amenable. In the sober light of day, who knows how Dean will feel. Especially knowing what Max unwittingly revealed.

Of course, there’s also the eminent possibility of Dean confronting Sam about it, which means Sam will know that Max told him, which means that Sam will never trust him again. So, chances are their first fight will never have a resolution, because their relationship will effectively be over.

Max knows he should be focusing on the case. He is, mostly. But this is the closest he and Sam have been in days, and they’ve exchanged about two words since they started fighting. The emotional part of his brain’s hijacking the rest of his brain that just wants to focus, because life just works that way sometimes.

_ Come on, Banes. What will be will be. Not everything has fallen apart yet, no need to assume the worst before it’s happened. _

Looking at the forest around him, Max feels the sensation of a thousand pins and needles ripples down his spine. It might be because they’d just been in Manuel Antonio Park, and that setting was more controlled, but everything about this reserve fills him with fear. He’s been afraid, walking through forests before, but it’s usually because of what might be hidden inside. This place, though, it radiates a feral energy from the land and the trees themselves. Like the whole jungle might just eat them alive. 

“Anyone else feel there’s something  _ off _ about this place?” He asks, eyes scanning the tree line above.

Dean says “no” as Sam and Castiel answer “yes”, initiating a round of stares. Sam raises an eyebrow toward his brother.

“You’re the one afraid you might have to punch a monkey, and somehow you can’t feel what’s off about the place?” The older brother scowls.

“Listen, not all of us have magic, or Heavenly powers, or your...” He makes a vague gesture at his brother. “Whatever – the point is, I don’t feel what you guys feel. Same way you can tell the hotel’s warded and I can’t.” Sam shrugs, apparently seeing his brother’s logic. Looking up to the trees, he squints, face scrunching up adorably like it always does when he’s trying to concentrate.

“Weird,” he says, glancing from tree to tree. “Last time I felt something like this was Cedar Rapids. Maybe we’re dealing with a forest spirit?”

“I hope not,” Max mutters, remembering their run-in with a crazed narcissistic Dryad. “That was hard enough with six experienced hunters. Plus, I don’t think the Costa Rican authorities will take too kindly to some Americans burning down a national park. Think they call it ecological warfare.” Sam gives a huff of laughter. It’s not much, but it still causes Max’s pace to quicken.

“Whatever, we can ask the tree-huggers up there,” Dean jerks his head up the trail to a very sterile looking compound. That’s the primary facility the researchers operate out of, according to the security guard who directed them there.

The plan’s pretty simple, once they enter the building. Sam already sent a message ahead of time, crafting a story about how he and Dean were adjunct professors from the Anthropology Department at Stanford looking for field work in Central America, so the primatologists are already expecting them. One, a guy named Patrickson, heads off with Sam and Dean to take them on a tour of the reserve.

Which leaves Max and Castiel to conduct the interviews, mostly alone. The angel, for some inexplicable reason, can pull off a scarily accurate imitation of Costa Rican accented-English, at least to Max’s ears. Enough to introduce himself as Rafael Abasolo from DIS, at least.

Max does most of the talking, anyway. He and Castiel have an interrogation technique when it’s desperately needed on hunts, one they plan using today. Unfortunately, only one of the researchers was working on the reserve when Craig Sherwood disappeared.

“So, Mr. Fernandez,” Max asks. “Was there anything strange leading up to the disappearance of Craig Sherwood?” Across the table, Fernandez shrugs.

“Not anything out of the ordinary,” he says. “I mean, there’s always some level of weird working in an isolated forest. So, there was nothing super weird, other than Craig disappearing.”

“Really?” Max raises an eyebrow. The researcher scoffs slightly.

“Yes,” he says sharply. Beside Max, Castiel clears his throat. A very human, subtle gesture, that took several days to teach the angel to do convincingly, so they could have a subtle enough tell.

Inhaling deeply, Max focuses his mind. He hates doing this, knows there’s more than a few issues of consent and free will, but the situation’s dire. Leaning forward, he stares deeply into Fernandez’ eyes.

“Tell me the truth,” he orders, layering each syllable with ripples of power. Max can practically feel the table thrum with energy, as his magic silently reaches out to grasp the other man. immediately, Fernandez stiffens.

“Everything about the weeks leading up to Sherwood’s disappearance was fishy,” he blurts out. Folding his arms across his chest, Max leans back in his chair.

“How so?”

“This place is fucking haunted,” Fernandez says. His eyes slowly widen in fear, perhaps realizing his brain no longer has control over his own mouth. “I’ve tried transferring to Kumamoto since I got here – have an undergrad minor in Japanese and everything, but they stuck me here because I’m Puerto Rican and spoke Spanish better than anyone here.” His jaw clenches. “They transferred Kuiken to Kumamoto a week after Sherwood went missing, and he doesn’t know Japanese  _ or _ Spanish.”

“What happened to Sherwood?” Max asks, willing the conversation away from the politics of the primatology world.

“He’d go off in the middle of the night, disappear whenever he had duties to feed the monkeys or whatever. Stopped eating, apparently started muttering to himself alone in his room.” The primatologist shudders. “One day he just disappeared for good. We found his clothes folded up by a lake, thought he went swimming, even though there’s caimans and snakes in those lakes.”

“So he was eaten?” Castiel interjects. Fernandez seems to have gotten over the shock of his sudden diarrhea of the mouth, looking suddenly very exhausted.

“I thought so.” He admits. “But the body never showed up.” His lips twitch. “Hate to say it, but better him than anyone else.” That sends a chill down Max’s spine.

“What do you mean?” The witch asks. Fernandez shrugs.

“We sometimes can clash with the locals,” He says. “Not everyone has the same love for the monkeys that live here. To us, they’re exotic. But the people who’ve grown up seeing them around all the time, they’re more like pests.”

“And Craig had a problem with this,” Max deduces.

“Yeah, could say that,” The primatologist snorts. “His whole life revolved about the monkeys, so God forbid anyone didn’t value them as much as he did. He’d lecture them about how they should appreciate the wildlife around them.” He rolls his eyes. “Couldn’t take notice that most of them are so poor they have to bathe in a river.”

That’s definitely something to take note of. To discuss with the group later Max types into the note app on his phone, glancing back up at Fernandez.

“Anything else?” He inquires, pushing more and more energy into the spell.

“Well,” The other man bites his lip, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. “Nothing’s coming to mind right now. But,” He pulls the sticky note pad from the nearby table, and a pen along with it. “If you need anything from me later, or want to meet one-on-one,” Scribbling something onto the note pad, he pulls off the top note, handing it to Max. “You can call me.” He gives Max wink. “I know where to get the best patacones in Guanacaste.”

Max gives the widest smile he can muster, taking the note. Out of the corner of his eye, he can spy Castiel. The angel hasn’t reacted strongly, but that doesn’t mean much. His filter’s not always 100% there, so who knows what he’ll tell Sam.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Max lies. Leaving the room with record breaking speed, he makes his way out of the compound, stopping by a bench a dozen yards away.

He looks down at the sticky note, which has what must be Fernandez’ cell written in untidy little scrawl. Just staring at the sequence of numbers has him feeling guilty. 

It’s not the first time he’s been hit on since he and Sam started dating. Hell, sometimes they’ve been hit on together. And the idea’s tempting – maybe if he and Sam had already moved past their intimacy issues, they’d have had other guys with them. It’s not like they talk enough about sex for Max to know if Sam’s into that kind of stuff, even though he doesn’t seem too bothered when Rowena’s made crude jokes about joining in.

It’s just too tempting. Fernandez isn’t exactly unattractive – tan skin, curly black hair down to his shoulders, chiseled features and a rather tame beard. Kind of like Hispanic Tarzan. If he’d been working this case with Alicia back before the world fell apart, he’d have been on that the second his sister turned around.

But even the thought of kissing him now turns his stomach. Because his world’s already fallen apart, and Sam was the one to help him rebuild a new one. And he won’t risk ruining that because of some combination of anger and horniness.

The note catches fire in his hand. Max lets it go, watching the paper and fire dissolve into nothingness before it can even hit the ground.

“You left in a hurry.” A gruff voice says behind him. Max doesn’t turn to look at the angel, merely sliding down on the bench to make room. Castiel waits for a minute, clearly expecting a response, before taking the seat. “You could have told him you didn’t want his number.”

“I know,” Max answers. They fall into silence again. This is the downside to the angel – Max is a social being. He can’t stand sitting in silence too long, whereas Castiel would probably be content to not exchange any more words with him until Sam and Dean come back. “Thing is, a part of me does want it.”

“Then why did you burn it?” Castiel asks, frowning slightly. Max bites down a sigh of frustration.

“Because it represents a lot more than that,” He says. The angel shoots him a funny look, but doesn’t respond. They sit, the ambient sounds of nature all around them.

“He wanted to have sex,” Max finally answers. The angel nods.

“I’m aware.” He responds. Max must look surprised, because the angel gives a wry smile. “I’ve watched Dean flirt with women enough to know what seduction usually looks like. I was more curious as to why you rejected him.”

Ah. Of course. It’s a test. Dean probably put the angel up to it, after loosening Max up with his emotional heart-to-heart. They want to see how loyal he is to Sam, while their relationship is still on the rocks.

“Aren’t you supposed to be Sam’s friend?” He accuses. The angel’s smile turns sad in the blink of an eye.

“I’m not always sure,” Castiel admits. “I’ve come to think of Sam as one of my closest friends, but he’s not used to people caring about him. Even the other day, he felt like talking about his own emotional issues would’ve been burdening me.”

Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Dean didn’t plan this at all. Max hasn’t ever seen this side of Castiel, but it’s almost like Sam has two overprotective brothers instead of just one. Sighing, he slumps back against the bench.

“What’d he say?” Beside him, the angel gives a sigh of his own.

“His time in the Cage has drastically traumatized him,” the angel says. Max resists the urge to snort and say ‘yeah, no shit’. Cas deserves some credit and criticizing him for his shortcomings can only hinder encouraging him to be more open. “I’ve known this since I took on his memories from that place, but I had no idea how much it’s impacted his self-esteem.”

“Sam’s a survivor,” Max says, finding it hard to keep the pride out of his own voice. Castiel nods in agreement.

“But he doesn’t see the fact that he survived. He only sees his own weakness for what was done to him.” The angel’s voice, normally so clinical, is surprisingly defeated.

“He’s not weak,” Max insists, clenching his fists. Castiel’s revelation has him sick to his stomach. Beside him, the angel shakes his head.

“You should try convincing Sam of that,” He says dryly. Max doesn’t need to be told that, of course – He got so frustrated with Sam’s need to bypass his own trauma that he basically ended up calling him an asshole for it. He probably deserves the silent treatment he’s getting from Sam.

Perhaps sensing his distress, Castiel rests a hand on Max’s shoulder. The witch looks to him, shocked at the display of emotion for the normally reserved angel.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now,” He begins. “But you did the right thing. Sam even admitted it. You prioritized his emotions when he couldn’t, and that’s what he needs. He just hasn’t admitted he needs it right now.”

That’s twice now he’s been told he wasn’t entirely unreasonable. By Sam’s mom, and his closest friend, both of whom had already talked to Sam about the fight. And sure, Dean didn’t exactly say those words, but he didn’t seem against Max like the witch would expect from the overly protective older brother of his boyfriend.

Max knows he and Sam have to talk soon. He’s not avoiding that fact. He’s just not rushing toward it with open arms. The wounds are too raw. He and Sam acknowledging they were both in the wrong doesn’t just magically fix everything. It takes more than words to mend a broken heart. And right now, Max isn’t sure how they can fix this.

* * *

They’re deep into the forest, guided by one of the researchers working on the reserve. Sam’s grateful Dean’s enough of a neat freak to bring bug spray, because they’d probably have been a feast for the fat mosquitoes hanging in the air by this point. Getting bug bites is pretty low on Sam’s list of things to do in Costa Rica, no matter how minor they might be. He's even more grateful for the special boots they have to wear so they don't get bitten underfoot by a very irritable snake.

Then again, there’s always the possibility that the bugs are what’s causing the disappearances. Sam’s not sure if there’s lore on the supernatural capabilities of mosquitoes in any culture. Bug bites are such a minor thing that any super-powered insects would probably fly under most people’s radar.

Pretty terrifying concept, actually.

“So, Patrickson,” He clears his throat. “How long you been here?”

“Almost a year,” The researcher says from in front of them. “I’ve been here the longest out of anyone besides Fernandez.”

“Was that before or after that one guy went missing?” Dean asks. Patrickson comes to a halt, glancing over his shoulder.

“After,” he admits. “By the time I got here, half the researchers and grad students working here had put in transfer requests, or just flat-out quit. The rest were gone within a month. Except Fernandez.” The researcher gives a dark chuckle. “Don’t know who he pissed off badly enough to be stuck here.”

“Was that the only incident?” Sam asks after a beat, trying to affect a nervous tone to his voice. The researcher doesn’t answer right away, except for a measured sigh. They all walk along for a while.

“Nothing I was here for,” Patrickson says, in a very pointed tone. “I’ve heard other stories, but I’m sure most of them were to screw around with me.”

“Like what?” Dean asks. The researcher shoots them a look, raising an eyebrow.

“So one of the duties here is putting the monkeys to bed, and waking them up in the morning,” He explains. “It means you can be walking back to the compound in the dark.” Sam winces. Even with years of hunting, he doesn’t think he would want to walk through this forest at night.

“One night, this Belgian student Claes was walking home from putting the monkeys to bed. He hears a rustling in the trees, turns on his flashlight, and sees a pair of eyes reflecting back at him. Thing was huge, so he assumed it was a howler.” Patrickson shudders. “He almost shit a brick when he found out Platyrrhines don’t have tapetum lucidum.”

“What was it?” From what Sam can recall from the introductory anthropology class he took Stanford, almost no primates have eyes that reflect visible light, except some subspecies of lemurs and their cousins.

“Panther, maybe?” The researcher hazards a guess. “He’s lucky whatever it was didn’t consider him very appetizing.” Sam’ll have to revisit the photos he took from the National Museum’s exhibit on Costa Rican myths, but something about Monkeys and shining eyes is ringing a bell.

“Any issues with the locals?” He asks. The protective wards around the hotel were almost impossible to research, so there’s a strong possibility that they’re Indigenous. Clues as to motive might help narrow down their suspect list.

“Just the normal conflicts of interest,” Patrickson shrugs. “Rice farming interests tried to pressure the government into turning this reserve into arable land in ’94, which would’ve probably made a lot of jobs for the people here. And there’s always poaching threats – if you’re not a primatologist, or a person who values animals, a monkey’s more valuable dead than it is alive.” He bites his lip. “I mean, there’s also a fair amount of practical jokes.”

“What kinda practical jokes?” Dean asks. Sam vaguely recalls the mention of a trickster figure in Costa Rican Indigenous culture. Maybe a pagan of sorts?

“Nothing too serious.” The other man assures them. “They’ve found bras and panties hanging off of some tree branches deep in the woods. None of the women working here recognized them, so we figured it was some kids stealing their Moms’ underwear. Don’t know how they got that far into the forest, but again, not too serious.”

Behind his back, the two hunters share a look. Sam can see Dean’s as unconvinced as he is. Still, that might be the most they’re gonna get out of this guy. Sam jerks his head back toward the compound. Eyes narrowing, Dean gives a curt nod. Clearing his throat, the older hunter looks back to Patrickson.

“Right, I think we’re gonna head back to the compound,” He says. The man looks a little surprised, put off even.

“Already?” He inquires, looking between the two of them. “I haven’t even shown you the duties. It’d make no sense for us to come back and for me to come out here again.”

“We’re fine making our way back” Dean assures the researcher. “Not our first forest.”

“Sure you don’t need help?” Patrickson asks, looking between the two of them. “I don’t mind leading you back now.” Sam smiles, shaking his head.

“We’re good, honestly.”

“Sorry, but I’d feel a lot safer helping you too back,” Patrickson insists, frown deepening.

“We don’t want to make you come back out here to finish your job later.” Dean says. It’s kind of suspicious that Dean wants to walk back alone as much as Sam does, but it’s an ideal setting to talk about the clues they have so far.

“Listen, it’s easy to get lost,” Patrickson counters. “It won’t take that long to finish everything on my checklist, and then we can walk back.” He shrugs. “Maybe I can make it worth your while.” Sam sighs.

“I promise you, we’re fine,” He insists, putting some firmness into the words. The primatologist goes silent for a pause. Sam can see his shoulders slacken.

“Fair enough,” he says nonchalantly, pointing past them. “Keep going in that general direction. You should end up at the clearing where the compound is.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean grunts, already turning around. Sam nods his head, silently conveying the same message.

“No problem,” Patrickson says, winking at Sam. “Hope you liked the tour. Wouldn’t mind if I saw more of you two here.”

Starting the long walk back to the compound, Sam’s mind is racing a mile a minute. He can only recall so much of the lore without the photos he took or the internet tabs he’s opened. Somehow, though, he does remember at least a few mythological creatures.

“I might need to look over the notes we have when we get back to the hotel, but I’d say whatever we’re dealing with might be some kind of monkey,” he says. “There’s a small possibility that it’s a catlike creature, but there’s a couple overlapping primate stories that I think could all be our monster –” Seeing the look Dean’s giving him, he halts. “What?”

“That guy was hitting on you.” Dean remarks, stopping alongside him. His tone’s almost accusing, but not quite. Sam blinks.

“Huh?”

“Jesus,” Dean groans, rolling his eyes. “How can you be so smart and so, so dumb? It’s a wonder your boyfriend ever got you to realize he was into you.”

_ Ah. Okay. _

“Are we really gonna talk about this now?” Sam asks. Dean folds his arms across his chest, how he usually does when he’s about to chew someone out. Sam suppresses a sigh.  _ Of course we are. _

“Did you really not notice?” Dean asks. “Dude was giving you bedroom eyes, man. And this,” He gestures at the khaki shirt Sam’s wearing. “ – was a bad idea. Surprised he could even pay attention walking, he spent most of the time looking at your arms.” Sam rolls his eyes.

“No, Dean, I didn’t notice,” He says. “I was kind of focused on  _ the case _ . You know, the one we’re on right now?” Dean gives him a tired, disbelieving look. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“Why do I care?” His brother repeats incredulously. “I care because, miraculously, I actually get along with the person you’re dating right now. He’s a good guy, and sure, maybe he’s a little bit of a smart aleck, but he cares about you, Sam. And now you’re fighting, and you, Mr. Let’s-Talk-About-Our-Feelings, turn out to be the biggest hypocrite in the universe because you’re burying yourself in this case so that you can ignore everything that’s going wrong.”

Sam doesn’t answer. In all honesty, he did expect this, to a degree – he’s known they talked the night he and Max had their fight. Even if Dean goes overboard with his overprotective big brother role, Sam figured the talk had gone well. Both because they get along scarily well, and because of the lack of black eyes.

What he didn’t expect was for Dean to be so insightful. Which he maybe should’ve. Dean might roll his eyes about academics and emotions, but when he wants to, he can psychoanalyze a person better than most clinical psychologists.

“So, what gives, Sam?” Dean asks, clearly expecting an answer. His brother, it seems, is more pissed at him than he is at Max.

_ Well, did you expect anything else, Sammy? He knows you better than most. How many times has he had to hunt you down? Why would he logically ever be on your side? _

Sam lets out a sigh of exhaustion. A lot of stuff gives. And there’s not enough time to explain to Dean, because they’re in the middle of a forest and Max and Castiel will probably be looking for them. And Sam’s an idiot who can’t practice what he preaches and wear his heart on his sleeve.

“It doesn’t matter,” He says, dismissively. His own arms come up across his chest, mirroring Dean. Except for him, it’s a defensive gesture. Like covering his chest somehow can shut out his feelings. “It’s nothing. No big deal.”

Green eyes pierce his soul. Subconsciously, Sam suppresses a shudder. He wishes Dean would look away. Even with all Castiel’s truth-detecting abilities, Sam feels ever-more exposed under his brother’s gaze. He turns away, ready to walk back alone.

“Sam.” The tone in Dean’s voice stops him in his tracks. Looking back, Sam sees his brother’s eyes filled with pain. His mind’s racing a thousand miles a minute, trying to find a reason as to why Dean looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Something’s been wrong for the last few days with Dean, and he has no idea as to what. “I know about Lucifer.”

Sam goes cold. Blood roars in his ear drums, his heart pounding erratically. Bile’s threatening to force its way up out of his throat.

_ Dean knows. _

“How?” His throat practically cracks at trying to force the words out. Somehow, he already knows the answer before it’s on Dean’s lips.

“Max.” Of course. Because Castiel had already assured him yesterday that he would never tell Dean. That’s probably why Max is avoiding him like the plague right now, can’t even meet his eyes.

Sam knows he’s going to be sick. He can’t even tell how he’s feeling right now, so many violent emotions are battling for control. Blistering cold rage. Overwhelming sadness. Burning hot shame.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asks, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. Like it was easy, to just come out and admit something like that.

“What would you have said?” He counters. Dean flinches, and Sam suddenly realizes how scathing it sounds coming out.

“I would’ve said  _ something _ .” Dean insists, stepping closer to him. “I just thought you would’ve told me. Max did, too. He thought I already knew – looked sick to his stomach when he realized he was the first to break the news.”

Sam feels his anger lessen. So, Max didn’t reveal the secret to Dean intentionally. He’d assumed incorrectly that Sam would’ve told him first. Because that was what Max might’ve done, if the situation were reversed. He and Alicia had rarely kept secrets, up until they did. Sam and Dean’s relationship has always been secrets kept from one another.

“I didn’t want to put more on your plate,” Sam says, which is half-true. “There was just always other stuff going on, you didn’t need that on top of everything else.”

“You’re my little brother, dude,” Dean protests. “I know we’ve been shitty about this stuff in the past, but your feelings aren’t a burden on me. I love you.”

A stinging sensation shoots through his eyes. Swearing, Sam lifts a hand to cover them. A sharp pinch on the bridge of his nose proves ineffective, as the first few tears slip out.

“Fuck,” Sam says again, clenching his lids so hard that bright colors bloom across the darkness under his eyes. The dam’s broken, though, and more tears continue to slip out against his will. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Strong arms wrap around his waist, giving a sharp tug. Sam fights it, but Dean’s stronger, always has been, pulling him flush against his brother’s chest. He gives in, pulling his hand away from his face and collapsing into Dean’s shoulder. He sucks in huge gulps of oxygen in an attempt to stop this stupid crying, but even breathing’s a battle.

“I gotcha, Sammy,” He hears Dean whisper in his ear. A hand comes to rest on the back of his head, pulling him in more. “I always gotcha.” Sam wraps his arms around his brother even tighter.

* * *

It turns out Sam’s earlier predictions were accurate. The most likely suspect for their monster is a monkey-like creature from Costa Rican folklore, known as “El Micomalo”. The exhibit described it as an enormous monkey of demonic nature, with bristly black hair and eyes that burn bright like fire. It also allegedly harasses couples who fight a lot, which might explain what happened to Brittany and Kyle.

However, there seems to be a whole other layer to this. Stories about the Micomalo usually accompanied by the belief that witches could shed their skins and transform into monkeys. The reason for this overlap isn’t clear. But between Patrickson’s story of finding women’s clothes hanging deep in the forest, and the wards protecting their hotel, Sam’s pretty sure that a witch is causing the attacks.

Unfortunately, it’s kind of pertinent they know who, and they have zero leads. Except one, possibly. And if they don’t explore the lead, they have nowhere to go with the case until the next attack.

“I need to ask you a question.” On the other end of the line, Sam can practically hear a raised eyebrow.

“My, my, never one for niceties,” Rowena answers, smirk audible. “Who taught you manners, Samuel?” Sighing, Sam pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Rowena, I really don’t have time for this,” he groans. “I just need some information, and then I’ll let you go.” 

“And what’s in it for me?” The witch asks. “You all have already gone on your vacation, and I seem to have misplaced my invitation, or was otherwise not invited, so unless your adorable little boytoy’s reconsidered his stance on the fairer sex and the two of you are inviting me along for something –”

“Rowena,” He repeats, much more firmly this time. The witch relents, falling silent. “I just want to know if the Grand Coven kept tabs on any witches in Costa Rica. Or even Central America in general.”

“Mmm, I figured,” Rowena says. “Somehow even on vacation the lot of you couldn’t manage to get away from hunting. Typical.”

Sam bites his tongue, silently waiting for her to finish her rambling. There’s no denying they’ve grown much closer together in this past year, especially with another witch around the bunker, but Rowena’s tendencies for the dramatic can make it hard to stay patient.

“Do you have anything?” He asks. Before she can even answer, Sam somehow sees the witch smiling.

“Lucky for you, I already took the liberty of peering through the Coven’s old records on magic users in Costa Rica.” Rowena says. There’s a brief silence that follows, and Sam realizes she’s waiting for him to ask further.

“And?”

“There isn’t much,” She admits. “Olivette and her sycophants weren’t too concerned with this corner of the globe. Didn’t deem it worth their while, evidently. But there was a single group that they considered noteworthy. Not enough to deem witches, on account of their untraditional powers.” Sam frowns.

“Untraditional?” He repeats. “How?”

“They could transform between women and monkeys. A tradition passed down from their ancestors.”

“The articles I read mentioned witches who could do that,” Sam recalls. “That sounded closer to a shaman or skinwalker’s abilities, so I wasn’t exactly sure whether they were using the terminology correctly.” 

“ ‘Witch’ is a fairly loose term, that we both know. But the Grand Coven’s Leaders are the ones who set the standards of how we define it. Any unique powers they themselves were incapable of possessing...” her voice trails off, the meaning clear. “Shamans and Witches aren’t too different, after all. Psychics are another matter of course, but they’re equally capable of witchcraft, too. A fact I’m sure you already know.”

“What, are you saying you want me to be your apprentice now?” He asks dryly. The witch’s laughter rumbles through the speaker.

“I’m saying that, should you be interested, the offer stands,” she responds. “There’s always been potential with you, dearie. And I think you’ve just started to realize it, too.” Sam gives a sigh. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he answers. “Did the file have any more information on this group of witches?”

“Just that it was a clan of women of Indigenous heritage, all of whom carried a talisman. They took on a Spanish surname after the colonization of Costa Rica, which they passed down from mother to daughter.” The inside of Sam’s mouth is suddenly dry as the bone, realization setting in.

“And what was the name?” He asks, already aware of who the witch is.

“Zárate.”


	7. Make this chaos count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amends are made, drinks are drunk.

The past few days have done a number on Dean. It might’ve been naïve to think he could’ve gotten away from hunting, even thousands of miles away from home.What he didn’t count on was playing marriage counselor to his baby brother and said brother’s witch boyfriend. He and Sam cried their eyes out yesterday during their little heart to heart, more than either of them have cried in a while. Even though he’s a self-proclaimed hater of chick-flick moments, it was cathartic. To lay the Gadreel situation to rest, having finally understood at least to some degree Sam’s issue with it.

Dean’s not the only one playing therapist, either. They haven’t talked about it with each other, but he knows Mom and Cas have had conversations alone with both of them. The general gist, from what he’s gotten, is that both Sam and Max said dumb shit, and they’re both too proud to admit as much to each other and apologize.

Well, that bullshit ends today. Dean’s deliberately put the two of them together on the case, deep in Manuel Antonio Park. And as a precaution, Jack’s going along with them as a wedge to prevent any more stupid arguing. It’s six shades of shady, sure, but sometimes manipulation can be a necessary evil.

The rest of them are getting a self-appointed break from their couple’s counseling gig. They’re in the beachfront town, investigating the lead Rowena gave them. Castiel and Mary are there mostly as a backup.

As for Dean, he gets to do the fun job. Walking along the shore, he spots his target in the distance, at what looks like a beachfront bar. Admirable, considering it’s maybe 2 at the latest. Shame that she’s a crazy witch, cause if that’s not a woman after his own heart Dean’s not sure what is.

“Hey, Dalila.” He calls out. At the sound of her name, the woman turns.

“Hello, Dean,” She responds, smiling. “Would you care to join me?” Shrugging, Dean makes his way over and sits himself on the barstool next to her.

“Is this where you go on your days off?” He asks, gesturing to the beach in general. Dalila gives a chuckle. She’s in a black bikini, hair still wet from the ocean.

“Manuel Antonio is for tourists,” Dalila answers. Taking strands of her hair, she wrings out the saltwater. “There is not much to see here except for the beach and the jungle. And there is only so many times you can see a monkey.”

“The beach beats monkeys any day,” Dean nods. Compared to everything he’s done for the case so far, flirting with Dalila’s going to be a cake walk. Gone are the work-regulation khaki pants and unflattering yellow polo shirt. Her black two piece shows off a stocky shorter figure, as well as a series of tattoos stretching across her shoulders and back, some of them even slowly creeping down her arms.

“Do you find my back fascinating?” Dalila asks, barely keeping the laughter out of her voice. Dean immediately directs his eyes back to hers, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I uh, dig the ink,” He stutters, mentally slapping himself across the forehead.  _ Can’t seduce a lady if you creep her out, dumb-dumb. _

Thankfully, Dalila only laughs, beady black eyes shining.

“I am glad to hear that,” She answers, quirking an eyebrow. Taking the ball and rolling with it, Dean decides to continue this line of questioning.

“Are these, uh,” he pauses, trying to find a term that Sam might approve of. “Culturally significant to you?” He mentally pats himself on the shoulder, marveling that he could reach far enough into his ass to pull up that academically loaded term out. Dalila smiles again.

“I got them because I wanted too, if that’s what you mean,” Dalila answers, still smiling. Scanning the tattoos once more, Dean’s eyes suddenly narrow in on just beneath her shoulder. In the sea of spiraling black patterns, there’s a monkey. It’s the black and white kind he saw at the park earlier. The name escapes him, but he’s definitely seen it time and time before in movies and tv shows.

“Thought you didn’t like monkeys,” He asks, gesturing to the tattoo. The woman’s eyes briefly flit down to where he’s pointing, before turning back to him. Dalila squints, like she’s trying to read his mind. Dean silently hopes that she can’t. Sighing, the woman turns to look away from the shore, towards the jungle’s tree line.

“My family and I, we lived near the jungle when I was a child,” She says. “My grandmother would always refer to the monkeys as ‘Our little neighbors’.” Dean notes the wistfulness in her voice. “Seeing them now only makes me think of her and my mother and my aunts.” She trails off, the silence filling the void in their conversation.

Dalila suddenly looks old beyond her years. She can’t be much older than thirty, but Dean knows firsthand life isn’t always gentle on you cause you’re young. (Sam did mention something about Dalila losing her family.) It doesn’t take a genius to wonder where her family is now, and Dean wonders if she might have a good reason to go postal on tourists.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks awkwardly. Dalila looks back to him, a much smaller smile flashing across her lips, but only briefly. “Uh, what do you drink? Margarita, Pina Colada?”

“ _ Piña _ ,” She corrects, stretching her arms slightly. “Whatever you are drinking, I guess.” Shrugging, Dean turns to the bartender.

“Uh, two Imperials, I guess?” Almost immediately, the woman gives a snort.

“Imperial is shit,” She says, waving her hand dismissively. Holding up two fingers, she turns to the bartender. “ _ Mae, tráiganos dos chiliguaros _ .”

Behind the bar, the man moves to one side to make the drinks. Dalila turns back to Dean, smirking.

“I’m going to show you how to drink like a real Tico.” She says conspiratorially. Dean frowns. Not that he doesn’t agree with her assessment of the national Costa Rican beer, but he’s cheap enough to not want to pay extra for Heineken or Stella Artois or some other bullshit.

Chiliguaro turns out not to be a beer, though, because the bartender comes back with two tiny shot glasses filled to the brim with a chunky red substance that looks a little like salsa.

“What is this?” Dean asks, holding the glass up dubiously.

“Chiliguaro,” The bartender answers. “We call it the Costa Rican Bloody Mary.” Dean’s not sure he’s ever had an American Bloody Mary. Mainly because vodka’s never been his booze of choice, and even he’s never been enough of an alcoholic to drink at breakfast.

“You don’t have to have it, if you’re nervous,” Dalila says, reaching out to grab it.

“I didn’t say that,” Dean says, pulling the shot down closer to his chest. “Why not up the stakes a little, though?” Dalila raises an eyebrow, growing wider.

“I’m interested.”

“We each do a shot, we each ask a question both of us have to answer.” Dean says. He’s fully aware she’s baiting him, and that it might be stupid to walk into this. But the witch doesn’t know Castiel and Mary are keeping an eye on them, somewhere. She made a challenge, and Dean’s going to take it.

“I like this game,” Dalila chuckles, eyes glinting dangerously. “What should we start with – three for you, three for me?” Seeing Dean nod, she turns to the bartender and rattles off another order.

“So, for the first one, I say we answer the questions first, then we can move to shots first and questions second.” Dean proposes. Dalila shrugs.

“Of course. How old are you?”

“Forty,” Dean admits. “You?”

“Twenty-eight,” Dalila says. Knocking back her shot, she slams it down on the table.

“Twenty-eight? Seriously?” Dean asks. Goddamn. Maybe it’s the air of maturity she carries around her, but Dean didn’t see her being that young. He wonders how much she’s been through to seem that wise. Dalila smirks.

“Did you think I was older, Dean? Do I look that bad?” Chuckling as he shakes his head rapidly, she gestures to him. “Your turn.” Taking his shot, Dean holds up to his nose. Automatically, he feels his nose protest at the scent of too many clashing spices.

“What’s your last name?” He asks. Sam already told him, of course, but the question’s just innocent enough for her to not find it suspicious. Save the serious questions for when she’s shitfaced.

“Zarra,” She answers.  _ Zarra. Zárate. _ At the confirmation, Dean feels his pulse quicken. “Yours?”

“Winchester,” Dean says. Lifting the shot glass to his lips, he tilts his head and lets it fall into his mouth.

The burn hits instantaneously, obliterating his senses. Letting out a cough, Dean’s vision gets blurry as tears run out of his eyes. The first thing he can taste is tabasco, searing his tastebuds like acid. It only makes it worse that the liquor in this shit’s probably dirt cheap, because it has the exact taste and texture of lighter fluid. He reaches up to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Even though he can’t see her, he can hear that Dalila’s barely holding in her laughter.

“Fine,” He grunts, reaching for another shot. “Let’s keep going.”

What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

* * *

Dean, Sam decides, is the absolute worst. Because his brother deliberately manufactured this to be as awkward as possible, knowing Sam would be in perhaps the most uncomfortable situation he’s ever been. Jack and Max are on either side of him, and he hasn’t talked to either of them directly since they started this stupid case. Maybe the awkwardness will be mitigated a little by the fact that this isn’t a one-on-one situation, but it’s doubtful.

Of course, Jack’s most likely here to stop him and Max from fighting with each other. Not that it’s needed – Sam’s not stupid, he knows they share the blame, and pointing fingers is useless. But Dean has another thing coming if he thinks having Jack here is going to make them discuss things calmly like adults. If anything, he’s just contributing to the awkward silence.

It’s already past noon, getting closer to evening, judging by the light breaking through the canopy. They probably aren’t going to stay here much later – they’ve been here over three hours, and the bugspray’s all but entirely worn off. Plus, the majority of the attacks have happened at night, and that was even on the side of the road. They’re way off the trail of where even the tours go, if the lore’s right, he and Max are fairly delicious-looking bait as a squabbling couple.

“I think we should split up,” Max finally says.

Sam feels his stomach drop. He knows, logically, that this conversation’s been inevitable, but he’s been avoiding it like the plague. Now Jack is going to be sent off somewhere, and they’re going to have to talk. Golden eyes fixate on him, before flitting to the Nephilim.

“You two stick together,” he says. “I’m going to scout ahead, try and see if I can spot more wards or something.” Sam blinks. That was definitely not what he was expecting.

_ Guess lover boy wants to patch things up even less than you do, Sammy-boy. Think he knows he’s playing second fiddle to yours truly? _

Before he can say anything, Max picks up his pace, feet rustling the forest floor beneath him. He’s gone from sight within minutes, turning behind a tree into a thicker part of the underbrush.

And now he and Jack are alone.

Surprisingly, being alone doesn’t push the younger man to conversation. The normally curious Nephilim remains uncharacteristically silent. Sam’s stomach twists as he’s reminded of the time when Jack thought the Winchesters had been using him solely to open the portal to the Apocalypse world to retrieve their mom. That had been a low point in the early days with Jack – the last thing he wanted to do was alienate the younger man.

He can’t remember Castiel, Mary or Dean mentioning Jack in the conversations he’d had with them in the days since his and Max’s fight. Sam’s been kind of wrapped in with his own emotional turmoil, selfish as it was, but he’s pretty sure that Jack hasn’t spoken much with any of them since they started the hunt.

Of course. Because he’d wanted this vacation to be an escape from hunting, at least temporarily, and by their shitty luck they’d managed to find one almost completely on accident. And Sam, trying to sidestep the glaring relationship issues he’s been having, had zeroed in on it, desperate to find a distraction.

“How have you been?” He asks. The Nephilim looks to him, frowning slightly in confusion. Sam offers a small smile. “You’ve been so silent these last few days. I just want to check in with how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine, I guess,” Jack answers with a shrug. They keep on walking deeper and deeper into the jungle, away from the direction Max headed.

“It’s okay if you aren’t,” Sam says, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “I know you were excited to get away from hunting, at least for a few days. No one’s going to get mad at you for admitting it.” The younger man doesn’t respond. Letting out a gentle sigh, Sam clears his throat. “I owe you an apology, for that. I kind of jumped on the first case we found here. I’m really sorry, Jack.”

The Nephilim turns to him, and Sam has to avoid a shiver. He knows it’s unintentional, but those piercing blue eyes feel like they’re staring deep into his soul. Too reminiscent of a similar set of eyes, inspecting him with a careful eye to best determine how to vivisect him just a little differently than the last fifty times.

“You didn’t want to come on this vacation,” Jack says. It’s spoken plainly, but Sam can’t help but flinch at it like it’s an accusation of some kind.

“I didn’t,” He admits, folding his hands over his chest. Almost immediately, Jack looks downcast, and Sam wants to do nothing more than through his arms around him. But he can’t, not right now. He honestly doesn’t deserve the boy’s hugs, and he’s too frightened at the prospect of Jack rejecting his embrace to even try.

“Why?” Jack asks, eyes still fixated on him. This time, however, the expression in them is gentle, something he would never associate with Lucifer. Sam sighs. This is a can of worms he definitely doesn’t want to open up.

“I’ve tried to take breaks from hunting,” He admits. “Usually they were meant to be permanent, not that it ever stuck.” Jack tilts his head to one side, giving him a curious look. As far as he’s concerned, Sam and Dean have always been hunters. Probably since they could walk.

Maybe he can’t picture Sam having a normal life, like Sam couldn’t with his own dad until he came face to face with John before the fire had taken Mary from him.

“The times that I’ve done it, people have gotten hurt. People I care about.” Kevin, Jess, Tyson. All people who had semi-normal lives, all dead now. Because Heaven and Hell care about harming humans about as much as humans care about squashing ants under their feet, save a few outliers like Castiel. “Always got made to feel like I majorly screwed up by just trying to run away.”

And that’s left him perfectly well adjusted, no anxieties or mental issues here. Just so terrified that the universe will punish him to try and take a vacation. And if it’s not the universe punishing him, it’ll probably be Dean.

That’s not fair, of course. He and Dean are better now. And it’s not like Dean’s had his own break from hunting, with his own consequences. If Sam’s honest with himself, though, he kind of resents how his brother got a clean break. Lisa and Ben got to walk away, intact except for their memories wiped, and that’s a whole other can of consent issues Sam doesn’t want to open.

If he’d had the same option, Sam probably would’ve done the same thing. Selfish as it is, wiping away Tyson and Jess’ memories of him and leaving them to live their normal lives would probably sit better with him than the knowledge that he’d played a hand in their deaths.

And to be honest, that’s yet another barrier to him and Max having sex. Because crossing that threshold feels like another nail in the witch’s inevitable coffin, because if anything’s certain, it’s that Sam’s body count is not just metaphorical.

“Is that why you and Max are fighting?” Jack asks. Sam blinks, thrown by the question. Once again, he’s underestimated the Nephilim’s insight. That, or he and Max have been much more obvious about their arguing than he thought.

“How long have you known?” He asks back.

“I noticed you’ve been avoiding him since that morning in San José,” He answers, sighing. I didn’t want to ask – I thought it’d only make things worse. But I kind of have to know now – in case I had anything to do with it.

“What?” Sam feels a sharp pang to his chest.  _ Is that what he thinks? Why he hasn’t spoken to anybody? _ “Jack, no, that’s – ”

_ God, you’ve really been shitty to everyone around you lately, haven’t you, Sammy? Shitty Lover, Shitty Friend, Shitty Brother, Shitty Son, Shitty Dad. Just shit, shit, shit… _

Sam stops Jack in his tracks, moving in front of him and placing both hands on his shoulders.

“What’s going on between me and Max has nothing to do with you,” He promises, not breaking eye contact with Jack. “It’s…complicated.”

“Why?” Jack frowns. Sighing, Sam privately wonders how much he wants to explain to Jack. How much he can actually explain with breaking down in front of him. How much he can explain what Lucifer did without warping Jack’s own sense of himself.

“Jack, do you know how angels need consent to enter a person’s body?” He asks. Slowly, the Nephilim gives a nod. “Well, the thing is, sex, it’s the same way. Kind of.” He steadies his breathing, trying his hardest not to think of Meg, or Gadreel, or Crowley. “Demonic possession’s different – same with when you don’t ask for permission.”

“Okay,” Jack says, voice uncertain. Sam pushes on, because he needs to make sure Jack understands this now.

“Thing is,” he continues. “Asking for permission is the bare minimum. There’s other things that complicate it.” The Nephilim gives him a curious look, so he feels the need to explain further. “You can say yes, but only because someone’s threatening you. You can say yes under false premises. You can say yes because that’s the only way to get someone to stop asking.”

“And that’s what’s happening with you and Max?” Jack asks, looking upset. Sam shakes his head.

“No,” He says. “But the point is, there was some…. _ things _ that Lucifer did to me. He wasn’t the only one, but he’s the one I remember the most.” Not that Bevell wasn’t horrible in her own right, but a single instance of coercion will never stand up to millennia of torture. “And it’s making it difficult for Max and I now.” The two of them fall silent for a minute, continuing to walk along the trail.

“How?” The Nephilim inquires. Sam gives a shrug.

“Whenever I think I’m ready, I keep pushing for us forward,” He says. “It feels like the last set of goalposts we have to move through, and I can really put everything with Lucifer to rest.” It’s probably not that simple. It never has been. But it’s nice to think so.

“What’s stopping you?” Jack asks.

“The memory of what Lucifer did keeps popping up at inconvenient times,” Sam explains. “It affects me, and Max can tell. And I tell him I’m fine, to keep going, but he never listens.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” The Nephilim asks, frowning slightly. Sam gives a huff, not even able to bring himself to laugh.

“Not really,” He says. “I just wished at the time that he would ignore me, and believe me when I said I was fine.” Jack tilts his head, looking more confused.

“So, like when you said you were fine with going on the vacation, and that ended up making things worse?” He asks. That actually manages to bring a chuckle out of Sam. He knows that Jack is meaning it innocently, but his brutal honesty can be hilarious at the best of times.

“I guess that wasn’t a smart decision either, huh,” He says, giving the younger man a grin. “Maybe I should go to you for advice first in the future.” The Nephilim returns the smile, albeit a little uneasily. Sam pulls him into an embrace, leaning down slightly so his head can rest in the crook of Jack’s neck. “I’m sorry. I kinda ruined everything about this vacation.”

“It’s okay,” Jack mutters, muffled slightly by Sam’s shoulder in front of his mouth. In the next moment, however, he pulls away from the hug, turning to look Sam in the eye nervously. “Did you not tell me about Lucifer till now because you’re afraid of me turning into him?”

“No, buddy, that’s not the reason,” Sam sighs. “It’s… hard to come out and admit that stuff. Dean didn’t even know till a couple days ago.” The boy’s eyes go wide in shock. “Yeah, I know. Surprised him too.” Pulling Jack into a one-armed hug, he presses a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re not Lucifer, and you never will be, Jack. I love you.”

Arms shoot up to wrap around Sam’s waist, surprising him with their almost bone-crushing strength. Jack’s face is pressed flush against his chest, and Sam can feel his shirt grow progressively wetter and wetter. Taking his other arm, he slings it over Jack’s shoulder, letting the younger man squeeze him tighter and tighter. Vibrations against his chest let him know that Jack’s saying something, but he can’t hear it.

“Sorry, what’d you say?” Sam asks, lifting Jack’s head away from his chest a bit. The boy looks up with puffy red eyes and a red-rimmed nose. Clearing his throat a little, he takes in a deep breath.

“I said, I love you too, Dad.”

And goddamn, if that just doesn’t make his heart ache. Sam’s own vision starts to blur, as he wipes away the tears from his eyes. He pulls Jack back to his chest, dipping his head slightly. His nose, not yet clogged and runny from crying, fills with Jack’s scent, indescribable except for the fact that Sam’s always reminded of home when he takes it in.

He knows that they really don’t have time with this, given that it’s starting to turn dark already, but he honestly doesn’t care. He could probably stay like this forever. Jack probably could too, judging by how hard he’s trying to crush Sam’s ribcage.

Suddenly, a shudder ripples down his spine. The warmth in his chest goes from comfortable to panicked, as his heart starts pounding faster and faster. Tuning out Jack’s breathing, and the pounding of his own blood in his ear, Sam tries to hear the whistles of birds, croaks of frogs, chirps of cicadas and other insects.

Instead, there’s only silence.

Sam pulls away from the hug, slowly scanning the forest. Everything’s still, uncomfortably so. Behind him, Jack shifts slightly.

“Sam,” He says, his tone uneasy.

“I know,” Sam answers. “I feel it, too.” He turns in a circle, slowly turning to examine the whole forest. A rustle of branches directs his eyes up. The canopy’s incredibly dark, almost nothing visible. Sam thinks for a second that maybe his paranoia’s acting up.

Suddenly, a pair of fiery red pinpricks appear in the dark.

Then a second.

And a third, and a fourth.

Sam’s entire body goes rigid, in an effort not to move a muscle. His eyes remain fixated on the canopy, as more and more red flashes of light appear in the dark. It’s enough to illuminate the shapes of the creatures perching on the branches, all muscle and dark fur and sharp teeth. His eyes flit down to Jack, standing in front of him.

“Jack,” he whispers, extending a hand at a snail’s pace towards the Nephilim. “Take my hand, slowly, and get us out of here.” The younger man stiffens, sensing the urgency in his voice. Abruptly, his head turns up to the canopy before Sam can tell him to stop.

A thousand shrieks emanate from the trees above, and the red eyes descend down toward them.

* * *

“Dean.”

His whole body feels like it’s on fire. The inside of his mouth is dry as sandpaper, and numb. His head’s pounding a thousand miles a minute, and it’s hard to use his brain apart from registering how much pain he’s in.

“Dean,” the voice repeats.

“Mom,” He croaks, the inside of his throat scraggly and as seared as the outside of his body. He shifts slightly, and almost immediately his skin aches in protest.

“Don’t move,” His mom orders.

“Did she attack me?” He asks, forcing his eyes open. Mary’s crouching above him, face halfway between pity and laughter. She forces out a slight chuckle at the question.

“Nope. She outdrank you,” She answers. It’s dark outside already, but the last thing he remembered it was only a little after noon. “You passed out.”

“Explains the hangover,” Dean grumbles. And the sore throat, he adds mentally. Jesus Christ, he’s never touching tabasco again.

“She left you out on the beach,” Mary adds. Grunting, Dean shifts his body slightly, feeling the too-tight feeling of skin that’s been sunburnt and thousands of itchy granules underneath him. The back side of him’s probably caked in sand, but on the bright side at least that part’s probably got the least of the sunburn.

“At least tell me some good news,” Dean begs, trying to stay as still as possible. His mom sighs, clearly having no good news to tell.

“She gave us the slip,” She admits. “She’s been gone awhile, but Castiel’s trying to find her. It’s early enough that we might catch the bus back to the hotel, but you’re going to have to get up and walk.” Dean lets out a low groan, holding in a swear.

“I’m gonna kill that witch.” 

* * *

Max always hates jogging. He loves working out, for sure, enjoys the knowledge that he’s taking care of his body. But Sam tried to take him on a morning jog a couple times early into the period they started dating, and Max was so sore by the end of it that he spent close to the whole afternoon in bed, and no amount of Sam’s puppy dog eyes could convince him to try it again.

Right now, he’s running through the undergrowth as fast as his feet will carry him. His heart pounds in his chest, almost threatening to burst out of it, and his legs ache in protest. The entire forest is a blur around him as his vision strains, but he won’t stop for anything.

The unearthly screeches grow louder and louder, as do the shouts.

_ Faster, Banes. Come on, go faster, _ he berates himself. He can’t be too slow again. Like he was too slow to save Alicia. Too slow to save Mom.

Another one of those unearthly howls is much closer this time, crescendoing at an alarming rate. In his periphery, he sees a shadow descend on him. Extending a hand, Max barely needs to think, propelling the creature back.

If possible, he runs faster, forcing himself to breathe. The noises of fighting grow louder and louder, enough that he can start distinguishing Max and Sam’s voices.

“There’s too many of them!”

“Jack, you need to leave, grab Max and go!”

“I’m not leaving you here to die!” No one’s dying, not if Max has anything to say about it.

He runs almost head first into Jack, but thankfully stops just in time before he knocks him over. The younger man’s eyes are burning bright with golden light, searing the darkness around them

They’re surrounded on all sides by jet black. The creatures are blurs, moving at inhuman speeds. A set of blood red eyes zooms towards them –

– Before it’s struck back by a shimmery golden wall.

Jack’s summoned a protective shield all around the two of them. More and more creatures launch themselves at it, only to pounce away. It provides illumination, showing their attackers.

They  _ are _ like monkeys, just like the lore said. Only larger and scarier and more ferocious than any monkey Max has ever seen. Their eyes shine bright red and bloody, filled with a ferocious anger, only made worse by the fact that they can’t seem to pierce Jack’s shield and claim their prize.

Which leaves only Sam, alone and across the clearing, for the taking.

Max’s eyes come to rest on his lover’s face. It’s lined with exhaustion, Sam’s whole body swaying as if he’s fighting to stand up. His outer jacket and most of his flannel’s already been torn up.

“Sam,” he whispers.

The monkeys move away from Jack’s shield. Max feels a twist in his gut, knowing whatever they do he won’t be able to stop it. Even if the shield wasn’t up, he won’t be able to stop them all at once.

As one, the Micomalos descend on Sam. Max lets out a cry, slamming into the golden aura as he tries to reach out for him.

_ He’s gone, _ Max thinks.  _ He’s gone, and thinks I hate him. _

Hazel eyes are fixated on him, peering into his very soul. They’re filled with fear, terror. Maybe regret. Max wants nothing more to look away. He doesn’t want to see Sam torn into a thousand pieces before his eyes, doesn’t think he can handle it. But he somehow can’t. Max can’t let the last sight Sam see be a thousand bloodred eyes descend onto him.

The seconds staring bleed on and on, seemingly forever.

And then, the seconds become minutes.

“Max,” Jacks voice snaps him out of his staring. All around them, he notices the golden shield’s dissipated.

And yet Sam’s still standing across from them, hands stretched upward. He almost looks like Atlas, holding up the weight of the invisible sky pressing down on him.

“Max,” Jack repeats, voice full of wonder. “Look at them.” Eyes flickering away from Sam, Max looks up.

And blinks.

The Micomalos are still descending toward Sam. But agonizingly slow, inch by inch, as if they’re moving through syrup. The closest one is still over 10 feet up, moving at a snail’s pace.

It’s then that Max notices Sam’s nose is bleeding freely, red streaks running down his face and into his beard. If he looked on the verge of collapse before, he’s maybe got a minute or so before he passes out now. An invisible pressure’s seemingly pushing down on his back.

“Jack!” He shouts, starting to run towards Sam. The Nephilim isn’t too far behind him, thankfully understanding his intent.

Max catches Sam in his arms, pulling the larger man against his chest. As soon as he has him, the screeches resume, as the monkeys plummet down toward them. Max holds a hand out to Jack, interlocking fingers and blasting the closest creatures away.

The world around them spins violently. Max’s stomach does a flip, as if his entire body’s collapsing in on it.

The spinning comes to a stop, and Max falls to the cold tiled. Sam crashes on top of him, knocking whatever wind he has right out of him. Looking up toward an illuminated white ceiling, Max realizes they’re back in the hostel room.

“Sam? Sam!” In a flash, Mary’s by their side, helping Jack to peel the larger man off of Max’s body. Having the pressure lifted off him, Max sits up, moving the two of them out of the way to reach his boyfriend’s body.

Sam’s breathing is shallow. The blood rushing from his nose hasn’t started to crust up and dry yet, but that’s far from the only place he’s bleeding, judging by the dampness of his clothes.

Ripping the jacket and shirt off at expert speed, Max’s eyes are greeted to endless scores of angry claw marks up and down Sam’s chest. None of them are too deep, mostly surface marks except for one a little under his left pec. But there’s enough of them that if they don’t stop the bleeding soon, Sam could be in trouble.

“Jack, he needs healing,” He says. Instinctively, the Nephilim places a hand against Sam’s chest. A golden light ripples throughout Sam’s body. The tinier wounds start to seal up almost immediately, not even leaving scars. The large ones narrow slightly, but not enough to completely stop bleeding.

Almost immediately, Max sees Sam’s chest rise, his breathing automatically slowing down to a more restful rate. Jack places his hand toward the biggest gash wound, but Max reaches out to stop him.

“I have to heal him,” Jack insists, voice shaking. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I can’t have him –” Max reaches out, steadying Jack’s shoulders.

“Sam’s going to be fine,” He affirms with a confidence he doesn’t have. “You’re already burned out from using your shield and teleporting. I can do the rest of the healing.” His healing’s mediocre at best, hence why they always lean on Castiel and Jack for that stuff. But Sam’s remaining wounds aren’t anything serious. So long as they don’t get infected.

Jack doesn’t seem to believe him, even remotely. But then again, Max hardly believes himself. He’s too paralyzed with fear right now. Still, the Nephilim needs words of comfort.

“Hey,” Max says gently, giving him a smile. “You got us out of there. You saved him.” After a pause, Jack nods. “You should lie down, take it easy.” He doesn’t even bother wasting magic to compel the Nephilim, especially considering how unlikely it is to even work.

He doesn’t need to, as it turns out. The Nephilim walks over to the nearest bunk bed, stepping out of his miraculously unscathed jeans and shoes, and slips beneath the covers. Max turns to Mary, currently gazing intently at Sam.

“What happened? Where’s Dean and Cas?” He asks. Mary sighs, giving a shrug.

“Dean’s in one of the singles,” She answers. “Dalila gave us the slip. Cas is trying to find her.” Max swears under his breath.

“Okay, I’m gonna help him into the shower,” His eyes flick toward the bathroom on the far side of the room. “The best healing spell I have only works with running water, that’s gonna have to work for now.” Mary nods.

“Do you need help getting him there?” She asks. Max shakes his head. Centering his energy, he reaches under Sam’s back with one hand and under his legs with the other, cradling his body in his arms. The deadweight’s a little more than he’s accustomed to, but he can manage.

Max carries Sam across to the bathroom, placing him in the walk-in shower before going to close the door behind them. Slowly, he tugs off the other man’s shoes, socks, and jeans. The sight of Sam’s leg causes him to suck in a breath. One of them’s sustained a lot of scarring, positioned at an angle that Max isn’t sure if it’s sprained.

He twiddles the leftmost knob on, sighing in relief as hot water comes trickling out the showerhead. Cupping his hands, he holds them steadily under the stream. Once it’s filled to the brim, Max redirects his hands to right over Sam’s much more scarred leg.

The water’s upended, dousing the leg beneath it and washing away some of the blood. Max repeats the process a couple times, until the cuts have mostly closed up, leaving only puffy pink skin and a crimson scar.

He moves on to the other parts of Sam’s legs. They take much less time to heal, especially since the magic’s already flowing through the water. By the time he’s migrated up to Sam’s chest, he realizes hazel eyes are staring back at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Max responds, moving some stray hairs out of Sam’s face. His reaction’s surprisingly controlled, because what he really wants to do is start crying in relief. “How are you feeling?” Sam pauses, lifting his back slightly. Max moves to help him, propping him against the shower wall. Once he’s there, he relaxes, slumping against it.

“My head’s pounding,” He answers groggily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Max laughs, mostly from nerves. Making a smaller cup with a single hand, he washes away the blood from Sam’s face and beard.

“Yeah, well, I’m surprised it wasn’t more,” He answers. Sam looks confused to see the dried blood from beneath his nose, but only slightly. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I stopped those things,” Sam says, realization slowly dawning on him.

“You did,” Max answers. “Guess our group ratio of half powered and half not is more like two thirds powered now.” Sam huffs, chest shaking slightly. Most of his wounds are sealed up, but the one under his chest probably needs a little stitching.

“You’re hurt, too,” Sam says, pulling back a wound on Max’s arm. His clothes are completely soaked at this point, but honestly, he couldn’t care less. He didn’t even manage to notice that one of the monkeys had managed to nick him.

“I’m fine,” Max says, but before he can protest further, Sam takes a handful of water and splashes it against the wound. It washes away most of the blood. The scratch is still a little open, but Max can see it’s still closed up a little. He turns to his boyfriend, confused.

“How long’s that been going on?” He asks. Sam gives a weak shrug.

“It hasn’t,” He answers. “Just had a hunch. Something Rowena said yesterday.” There’ll be time to ask more questions later. Right now, they both just need to rest.

“Can you stand?” He asks, placing an arm between Sam’s back and the wall. The older man gives a slight nod. Turning the shower off, Max helps Sam shakily rise to his feet. They leave the jeans discarded, instead putting Sam into a pair of navy floral swimming pants, along with a too-small orange button-down that also happens to have a floral design. They’re both probably part of Castiel’s wardrobe.

Castiel’s out there waiting for them, alongside Mary. The angel’s face is lined with weariness, the exhaustion from his search palpable. They don’t need to ask to know that he didn’t apprehend Dalila.

Max explains they’re going up to the single, probably to catch some sleep. Mary bids them good night, but Castiel decides to come along with them. Climbing the stairs of the courtyard’s tricky, given how tired both Sam and Max are, but they somehow make it work.

“What happened to you?” Max asks Dean the minute they enter the room.

The older Winchester scowls. His skin is a vibrant red, kind of like a lobster after it’s been boiled.

“Dalila challenged me to a drinking competition,” He grumbles, hiding his face from the light with a pillow.

“And?” Max asks, still confused.

“And I lost,” Dean growls.

“Dean, she’s like five feet tall and like 30 years old,” Max says.

“Well, I guess alcohol stunted her growth,” The older man mutters. “Cause she’s been drinking that shit from the womb.” Castiel sighs, crossing the room over to the bed and alleviating the older Winchester’s injuries with a touch. He gestures for the Winchester to get out of the bed.

“Come along,” he says. “We need to search everywhere in the hotel. Dalila could be anywhere.” Sighing, Dean hauls himself to his feet, following Castiel.

Out of the corner of his eye, Max can see the brothers exchange a glance. Dean holds a thumbs up. Beside him, Sam nods. Having his curiosity satisfied, Dean makes his way passed them over by the door, where Castiel’s waiting impatiently. The two of them close the door behind them, and just like that, Sam and Max are truly alone, for the first time in maybe a week.

Max helps Sam over to the bed, pulling back the sheets Dean was just lying in. Thankfully, the hunter’s not feeling particularly combative, letting Max take care of him. His open shirt and board shorts come off with little protest, along with the underwear soaked from the shower.

He silently resists the urge to scrub every surface of Sam’s body down with a towel, instead just pulling the first aid kit they kept under the bed for emergencies. Pulling out the spool and needle, he threads a strand through the eye.

“I almost lost you,” Max says, as he pierces the leftmost side of the gash under Sam’s pec. His tone’s much more casual then he feels. Like he’s talking about the weather, instead of his boyfriend dying.

Sam has that sad, understanding look on his face. Which is surprisingly hard, considering Max is repeatedly jabbing him with a needle. He nods slowly.

“I know,” He answers. Max continues his stitch work in silence for a bit, trying his best to make sure the sutures are small and precise. Sam usually has the better stitches, a byproduct of learning intently from a Dad who served as a medic in Vietnam and dating not one but two pre-med majors in college. He can usually do them on himself, granted its farther away from vital areas, but the positioning of this cut’s hidden enough beneath his chest that Max has to do it instead.

“You don’t seem too concerned,” Max says. He knows it sounds like an accusation, but he hates it when Sam pretends to act nonchalant about his own body, his own life. He doesn’t know if he’s hoping for a protest or an argument, but the older man only shrugs.

“I’ve died before,” He says. “Doesn’t usually stick, so I don’t worry about it.”

“And how about the day it does?” Max demands, finishing the last stitch with a little ferocity. “What are you going to do then?” Sam shrugs again. “Is that all you have to say? You don’t know?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam answers as he cuts off the needle and thread, tying the ends of the stitches. Max sighs in frustration.

“Why are you apologizing?” He demands.

“For everything,” Sam answers, reaching out to take his hand. “Our fight, I guess.” And of course, his boyfriend has to be fucking Gandhi.

“It’s not about the fight, Sam,” Max lies. The older hunter nods again but doesn’t speak up. “It’s about you being fucking suicidal, apparently.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Sam admits. “I’m always going to care about the people I love more than I care about myself. You were safe, Jack was safe.” Max clenches his teeth, anger flaring hot inside him.

“Trust me, I know you prioritize yourself last,” he says. “If you can’t remember, that’s the whole reason we’re fighting.” Sam opens his mouth, maybe to say something in edgewise, but Max’s not going to let the other man speak until he’s said what he’s had to say. “And you want to act all pissed and high and mighty, because you feel like I need sex, I guess, and you want to provide that for me. And you’re so afraid of someone caring about you that you are somehow mad at me for not wanting to force that on you when I could tell you weren’t into it?”

Sam doesn’t respond, mouth falling shut again. His expression isn’t stricken, like this outburst is unexpected. And that’s not frustrating at all. Maybe it’s the age difference, or the life experience, or just a surprising amount of empathy.

Max kind of wishes Sam would go back to how he was during the fight – just as angry and uncompromising and unkind as Max was. Instead, he’s probably going to give a talk about how he understands Max’s feelings. Because of course he has to understand.

“I’m sorry.” Whatever Max was expecting, it wasn’t that. The anger inside him doesn’t go out, but it definitely stops. Sam sits up more in the bed, rearranging the pillows behind him, turning to face Max.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats. “The sex was for me.” A frown breaks out onto Max’s face.

“Why?” He asks. Sam grimaces, shifting slightly in his bed.

“I just,” He sighs, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t want to feel afraid of him anymore.” The older hunter leans down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate the hold he still has on me. Even if he’s dead, I keep feeling like he might come back.” Hazel eyes open, turning to look at Max. “I keep fearing that he might take you away from me.”

Max feels a sharp pang in his gut. He knows that this had to do with Lucifer – he’d have to be an idiot not to. But he didn’t realize how deep it was.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Sam admits. “Maybe if we had sex, I wouldn’t be afraid of him anymore, and he couldn’t take you like he did with Jess and Brady.”

Sam’s talked about his exes, but only in passing. Talking about them doesn’t bring him comfort like talking about Alicia and their Mom does Max.

“And I was mad that you weren’t listening to me when I said I was ready. I just wanted you to ignore me, breeze through everything, so I could pretend everything was fine.” Max can hear Sam’s voice start to get shaky and reaches out a hand to grasp his knee.

“I was mad that even when I consented, I was being ignored.” Sam’s eyes look down to the ground. “Forgot that it was a two-way street. You weren’t comfortable either. Somehow I turned into what I was afraid of.” Max reaches out instinctively to grasp his hands. Sam looks up, eyes wide and confused. Getting up, Max moves to sit besides

“You aren’t like him,” He says. Seeing the uncertainty on the other man’s face, he reaches out slowly, pressing his lips to Sam’s.

The kiss is slow, hesitant, both of them taking their time to savor and enjoy it. The fire in Max’s chest is burning low and slow. A strong, firm hand grasps the back of his neck, pulling him deeper and deeper into the kiss. Suddenly, he’s feeling uncomfortably hot, wearing far too many clothes.

Max breaks the kiss, shimmying slowly out of the t-shirt he’s wearing. Sam stops to help, pulling it over his head once it’s halfway up his chest.

They don’t rush this time. Now that they realize it’s not a race to see who can be the most well-adjusted person and have the most normal sex, they’re content to relish each moment.

Sam’s visibly excited, and so is Max once his pants and underwear join the clothes on the floor. With a flick of the button, the two of them are in darkness, climbing into the cool white sheets of the bed. Max climbs atop his boyfriend, pulling him in for another long, soft kiss.

“I want you to tell me how you are,” He says firmly. “I want this to be good for both of us. And it’s not because I’m not listening to what you’re saying, okay?” There’s a brief silence, filled only by both of them breathing deeply, before Sam nods. “It’s because I care more about how you’re feeling.”

Beneath him, Sam nods again. His pupils are dilated so wide that hazel eyes look almost black. Alone in the dark, Max finds the words that he’s been saving for this exact moment.

“I love you.”


End file.
